


He Talks Too Much

by allfandoms4



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cute, I swear it's not half as bad as the tags suggest, Jack's a bit of a jerk too tbh, M/M, Mark's a bit of a jerk, Slow Burn, at least I think so, idek, sadness cause it's me, some mystery, tiny bit of humour?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfandoms4/pseuds/allfandoms4
Summary: Jack never thought he was the type of guy who would end up texting some random stranger five minutes after being stood up.And yet here he was.*Also posted on Wattpad*





	1. Chapter 1

Jack shivered uncomfortably, wrapping his coat tighter around his skinny body as he shifted from foot to foot; eyes darting from stranger to stranger with no luck. Where the fuck was he? Did he accidentally go to the wrong Starbucks or something? 

Of course, Jack couldn't exactly blame him if that were the case. New York seemed to be the breeding ground for coffee shops, something that the dark haired man was usually grateful for, but obviously today was an exception.

Snow drifted lazily from the sky and landed on his escaping dark tufts of hair, his massive coat and his stupid grey beanie that he probably should've left at home. His breath was misting in front of his eyes and he could feel the curious stares of the Starbucks customers fixed on his back as he checked the time for the fifth time in the last two minutes.

His date was 30 minutes late and he'd been standing out here in cold searching through the crowds for almost all that time. It really hadn't been one of his smartest ideas, to be all romantic and meet him at the door, but he most likely should've given up on it as soon as the snowflakes started to fall. Jesus, what the fuck was taking him so long anyway?

Jack sighed, digging his icy hands into his pockets. He really shouldn't have raised his hopes so high. It was stupid to think a guy like that would go out with a guy like him.

His name was Ryan. A tall man with tanned skin and cute brown eyes framed by a pair of glasses that made Jack's heart melt every time they so much as glanced in his direction. It was idiotic of him, he knew that. He was acting like a teenage girl with her first crush on the popular guy. But he really couldn't help himself. Especially when Ryan turned out to one of the nicest men he'd ever met. He'd ticked all the boxes.

They'd met in the library. Cliché, right? Well at the time all Jack could think of was how romantic it would be if it became their little thing to meet up in the library every so often, just to echo back to the moment they met if they dated.

Holy fuck that was sappy. He really needed to stop reading all those fucking romance novels, they were starting to mess with his head.

Anyway, he couldn't gather enough courage to do anything more than stare at the other man in a way that he thought was discreet; so of course Ryan made the first move. He'd been so confident, striding over to where Jack sat reading his book and plucking the novel straight out of his hands with a good natured smile, quickly reading the title before handing it back.

Jack remembered how his face had lit up like a traffic light as Ryan had laughed gently, commenting how he couldn't stand to see such a pretty face being covered up by that book anymore. Jack had been praying for a hole to open in the ground beneath him and just swallow him whole as he stuttered and stumbled over his words like an idiot.

Still, one thing had lead to another and now Jack was here, standing on his own outside Starbucks, shivering like he were naked in the North Pole. It was so pathetic.

Jack clenched his jaw, anger running through his veins. That fucking bastard. How dare he stand him up?! Did he think he was being funny or witty by well and truly ruining Jack's night? Because if that were the case he was very much mistaken.

The dark haired man turned on his heel and strode into the shop, ordering himself a coffee whilst accidently scaring the shit out of the poor boy behind the counter with the rage that was rolling off him in waves. Finally realising just how hard he was glaring at the other boy, Jack smiled apologetically, making sure to hand the barista a hefty tip before wandering towards an empty table by the window and throwing himself down in a chair.

Good god was he really going to sort out his boyfriend issues by drowning his sorrows in Starbucks coffee and moodily glaring at everyone around him?

Yup.

His coffee arrived around the time he had the genius idea to take his phone out and give Ryan a piece of his fucking mind. He'd been here for nearly 40 minutes waiting on the smug bastard, but he was done. It was time to tell him exactly what he thought of him.

**You're such a fucking asshole, you know that? I honestly can't believe you turned out to be such an inconsiderate bastard.**

Jack sat back in his chair and let out a sigh, this time of relief. Wow, that felt amazing to say.

Maybe Ryan would feel guilty and turn up after all. Jack would have the pleasure of humiliating him in front of the entire café just like Ryan had done to him. The dark haired boy blinked in surprise. Good god, that made him sound like an absolute prick.

Suddenly he heard his phone buzzing against the hard wood of the table and he couldn't help but jump for it. He'd replied? What did he have to say for himself? How could he justify this?

_Well, to be fair you're not wrong. Sometimes I can come off as a bit of a dick, but in all honesty at this moment I think you're the asshole here._

The dark haired man's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was he on about? Ryan knew perfectly well why he was the asshole between them. Jack was absolutely justified in what he said and-

Oh fuck what if Ryan gave him a fake number?

Jack gasped in shock gaining a few disapproving glances as he began to furiously type on his phone.

**Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I've got the wrong number, that wasn't meant for you.**

Setting his phone aside, Jack found himself drumming his fingers furiously on the table in front of him, unable to keep still as he waited impatiently for the anticipated text that would hopefully hold forgiveness. It seemed like forever before the phone buzzed again.

_Don't worry about it, it happens all the time. What's got you so pissed anyway?_

Jack resisted the temptation to type out all his problems, for nothing more than to vent his frustration. Thankfully he held himself back. This was a stranger. What the hell was he thinking? Why was he even still talking to them? This was a complete waste of time he could be spending moping over his lost date.

**No offence, but I'm really not in the mood to complain about my problems to a complete stranger, so if you don't mind, I'll be on my way now.**

He let out a muffled groan and finally took a deep sip of his coffee. It was lukewarm by now, but thankfully not scalding hot like he'd been expecting. To his surprise, his phone buzzed again.

_No wait! Please don't leave! Talk to me for a little while. Please?_

**Uh...why?**

_Because you're having a bad day and so am I. I promise I won't hold you back forever, I only want someone to talk to for a bit._

Jack blinked at the reply, contemplating his answer. It's not like he was the most adventurous person in the world, this person, whoever they were, would probably get bored of him soon. So what did he really have to lose?

**Alright fine, it's not like I've anything better to do. How's it going?**

_Really? You're gonna start with_ _**that** _ _question as your conversation starter?_

Jack's face was going to end up stuck in a permeant state of confusion at this rate. Who the fuck was this person?

**Uh...yeah? Is there something wrong with that?**

_Not really, it's just so_ _**boring** _ _. I thought we could start with something a little more interesting._

**Oh really? Like what?**

This answer took longer than the others and Jack felt the time like he was actually watching the clock ticking by. That was probably because he was. He was staring at the clock on the opposite wall, leg jumping up and down like there was an earthquake beneath his feet. Finally his phone buzzed again.

_Like...what was your favourite Disney movie as a kid?_

Jack blinked and read the message again. And again. And one more time just to be sure.

This was just weird. 

**Are you serious?**

_Deadly. Your answer will determine whether or not you're worthy of being my friend._

**Well, I guess in that case I'd better go with The Lion King.**

_Oh yeah? Why's that?_

**Probably because it's the only one I've seen.**

The reply came so quickly Jack nearly jumped.

_WHAT!? Wtf do you mean you've only seen The Lion King?? WHAT KIND OF MESSED UP CHILDHOOD DID YOU HAVE!?_

**Jesus calm down. I just never wanted to watch those movies much as a child.  Am I talking to a two year old or something?**

_24 year old man talking, you?_

Jack took a second to think about his answer. They could be lying, whoever 'they' were and Jack probably shouldn't give them any information about himself. But god it felt good to have a conversation with someone who wasn't A) his Ma or B) someone so insanely hot they made him feel bad for looking the way he did.

To be fair, they could still be insanely hot, but at least he didn't have to see it.

Still, better to be cautious.

**Before I answer your question, may I ask why a 24 year old man would be curious about my taste in Disney movies?**

The answer came almost immediately.

_Oi! I can feel you judging me through the phone. I'm just passionate about good movies, alright? Now, your turn to answer my question._

Jack contemplated lying, but what was the point really? Chances were they wouldn't talk to each other for more than a week so he was probably safe telling this dude his age at least.

**Fine. I'm a 23 year old man. Happy?**

_Very._

**While we're getting to know each other, what's your name?**

Jack knew it was a risky question, especially with his reluctance to reveal much personal information himself. But he had to know, he was so fascinated by this complete weirdo of a stranger. Curiosity killed the cat, his brain reminded him unhelpfully.

_Shhhhhhhhhh! I can't tell you!_

**What?**

_Dude, I've been talking to you for like 10 minutes and you expect me to divulge such sensitive information as my_ _**name** _ _?! Are you crazy!?_

**I'd say that between us you're definitely the crazy one. And really? You're really gonna do this right now?**

_Really, really._  

Jack glared at his phone in frustration. Jesus just tell me your fucking name goddammit. It actually got to the point where he had to force his features into a more acceptable expression otherwise the barista who was shooting him worried looks might just walk over here and that was the last thing Jack wanted.

Keeping his face calm while his insides boiled he turned back to his phone, typing with vigour.

 **Good god, are you sure you're 24?** **I'll tell you what, would it make you feel better if I told you mine first?**

_Sure I am, and only tell me if you wanna._

Might as well. What harm could it really do? Jack thought with a shrug.

**Fine. I'm Jack. And you are?**

_Sorry that's still confidential_.

Well fuck you.

**Ok, now who's being the asshole here?**

_Hey, you don't hear me arguing with you. I even warned you at the very start of this conversation that I was a bit of a dick._

**You know what? Fine, if that's the way you're gonna play it you still have to answer something. What hobbies do you do?**

_If I told you my hobby I'd have to kill you, which just so happens to be my hobby ;)_

Jack's hand came down on the table, making a clanging noise much louder than he'd first anticipated. Both staff and customers whipped their heads towards him so quickly Jack suspected a few must've sustained whiplash from the movement; a mixture of alarm and irritation in their eyes.

There were a few beats of silence in the cafe in which Jack was surprised none could hear his thundering heartbeat through his chest. He felt a blush spread across his cheeks as he muttered an inaudible apology, shrinking himself into his seat until the conversation had regained and the attention had been diverted from his bright red face. He turned back to the phone with anger, finding no one else to blame for his action other than the mystery man who made him so pissed in the first place.

**Oh my god could you be serious for two fucking seconds and answer the goddamned question?!**

_Why so serious, Jackaboy?_

**For fuck's sake, why am I still talking to you? I don't have time to deal with your petty, immature bullshit. Grow the fuck up.**

Jack let out a breath, setting his phone to the side and taking a few long sips of his now borderline ice-cold coffee. Maybe he was a little harsh. Just a little bit. Perhaps he should apologize for what he said, but he knew his pride simply wouldn't allow him.

So, when his phone buzzed again and he was determined to ignore it. And he did too.

For about 20 seconds.

_Hold up! Jack, please don't go! I'm just fucking around, seriously. I'll stop._

Jack bit his lip, thinking. Outside it was already getting dark, city lights glittering against the inky skyline. He watched as a pair of teenagers passed by his window, dressed in their woolly winter clothes and take-away coffee cups clasped tightly in the hand that wasn't intertwined with the other's fingers.

Good god Jack had never felt more lonely in his life. It felt like he'd been cheated of something tonight, a date, a boyfriend, a half decent relationship were all still distant dreams to him. But honestly, this guy, whoever he was, had at least attempted to make things better.

That had to count for something, right?

Hesitantly Jack reached for his phone once more, acting like it were an aggressive dog that might just bite his hand off if he moved too quickly.   

**If you want me to stay then you're gonna have to follow the rules of a conversation and actually answer shit, am I clear?**

_Crystal. Now, what do you wanna know, Jackaboy? I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Ask away. I am an open book. Shoot._

Jack couldn't help but let a small smile break out across his face.

Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets have a chat

**Jack P.O.V**

Jack really couldn't decide if this man was a serial killer or not.

He'd never really been a master of conversation but seriously, this dude was on another level, a level only two types of people could achieve A) evil masterminds B) insanely hot, popular people. Some people might say they are one in the same, but that wasn't for him to decide. 

Jack had spent the last quarter of an hour talking to the mystery man and the most he'd got out of him so far was that he owned a dog. A big and beautiful golden retriever named Chica that was this man's pride and joy.

But that's it.

I mean come on, for 15 minutes of conversation that was just pathetic.

The man had kept to his word too. He'd answered every question Jack had thrown at him. Just, carefully avoiding any specific details.

It was getting infuriating.

However, Jack found he had given away rather a lot about himself. Obviously nothing too personal (contrare to popular belief he wasn't a complete idiot), but just stupid random things that the mystery man liked to ask and Jack couldn't find a reason not to answer truthfully. A prime example was the man's latest line of questioning.

_How do you feel about red?_

By this point, Jack was back in his apartment, kicked back on the couch with his eyes glued to his cellphone, excited for each new message that came through.

His apartment wasn't particularly big, but it did the job of holding him and his suitcase worth of clothing just fine. The walls were painted a basic white with a few simplistic pencil drawings hung as decoration that came free when he bought the place.

Any stranger who walked in would probably describe Jack's choice of decoration as bland and unimaginative, but that's the way he liked it.

He loved the way everything had its own specific place in his mind and wouldn't move a single inch until he wanted it to. It was an interesting feeling, and one that Jack relished. But it was probably one of the main reasons he had no-one to call a friend. Maybe that was why he was so enthrawled with these scraps of human interaction.

Jesus, he was such a sad excuse for a man.

**What do you mean by 'how do I feel about red'?**

The answer came almost instantly.

_Like do you think red would suit me?_

Jack had kinda got used to the totally random lines of questioning and just went with it but this was weird, even for a mystery man with possible serial killer qualities.

**Are you choosing a shirt or something? And how the fuck would I know what suits you? I don't know what you look like for god's sake!**

_Nope, I was just thinking about cashing in on some hair dye. So, what's your opinion on the colour red, Jackaboy? Do you think I could pull it off?_

Jack sighed quietly to himself. How was he supposed to know? This man didn't seem to get that it was impossible for Jack to give an opinion without looking at his face first. Was he stupid or something?

 **Dye your hair all the colours of the fucking rainbow for all I care. Why would you want to dye your hair an unnatural colour anyway? It looks stupid and tacky.**  

This time the reply took much longer to come through, and Jack waited impatiently, fingers drumming on the faux-leather of his couch. He contemplated heading towards the kitchen and grabbing that little tub of ice cream he had in the back of the freezer. Maybe it would take the edge off the empty feeling that currently filled his stomach; a feeling he was all too familiar with.

It was a painful mix of disappointment and loneliness; but Jack was used to it by now.

_Why are you always so grumpy? Did someone piss in your cereal this morning, is that it? Because if they did, no offence, but don't  take it out on me. I'm a lot of things but I ain't nobody's punching bag._

Jack let out an indignant huff, eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. He was not grumpy! He was just in the middle of pushing himself through rejection, yet again. It wasn't his fault he could come across as a little pissy sometimes.

**I'm not fucking grumpy!**

_Suurrrreeeee you're not...and I'm Father Christmas. (And just in case you're too busy being grumpy to appreciate my sarcasm, I'm not actually Santa, no matter how much I like his beard)_

**Hey, you're the one who wanted to talk and godammit you expect me to believe you're a lot of things, but still you refuse to say anything about your life. I don't even know your fucking name for god's sake.**

_See? Look how grumpy you're being. This isn't how adults normally behave. Now, who shoved that stick up your ass? If it helps, you can imagine I'm Dr. Phil or someone super smart like that. Tell me all your deepest and darkest secrets. I'll hypnotize you if it helps._

Jack honestly had no idea why he couldn't just set the phone down and leave it alone. This man was annoying, frustrating and sarcastic. There was no reason to keep entertaining him after he didn't seem to want to do anything but joke around and couldn't hold down a normal conversation for the life of him. Still, Jack couldn't leave it. Not yet.

  **Why? Why do you care so much? Why bother?**

_I like helping people. Plus, I find it funny to wind you up. I was having a shitty day, but talking to you seemed to make me happier, even if you are rather grumpy. Now, please bare your soul to me so I can tell you how to live your life!_

Jack snorted despite himself. This guy really was special, in every meaning of the word.

**No I won't 'bare my soul' to you no matter how much you want me to. I really don't know you well enough to be comfortable with ranting about my life just yet.**

_But c'mon, it'll be fun! I promise! We can have a real deep conversation full of emotions and even a few tears and then we can drown our sorrows in ice cream and braid each other's hair! Sound good to you?_  

Jack found a smile growing on his face again.

**You're a very weird man. I hope you know that.**

_Well duh, I've done enough yoga and soul searching exercises to know that. But being normal is so bland, I like to think I add a little spice to the great curry that is humanity._

Jack's laugh was smothered as a yawn ripped through him, idly stretching his arms above his head as he strode towards his bedroom. A glance at the clock told him it was coming up to 8 o'clock but he felt his exhaustion in his bones, plus he had work tomorrow, an early night couldn't hurt.

 **On that note, I think it's time for me to go to sleep.**

_What?! But it's not even 8 yet! Are you really 23, or just a 7 year old trapped in a 23 year old's body?_

**Shut up, it's been a long day alright? I'm really tired.**

_You're coming back, right? You'll message me again?_

Jack blinked at the message it seemed so worried, so different from anything mystery man had sent him before. Maybe he wasn't the only lonely one here.

Still, did he really want to waste more of his precious time on this random guy who was both fascinating and infuriating at the same time?

The answer was in his next message.

**Yeah, I'll be back. You'd better be there to answer me.**

_Always._

**Would you please stop using movie quotes in your damn messages?**

_Awww I thought you didn't notice! I'm so proud of you. Maybe you're not a complete loss after all._

Jack could practically smell the sarcasm rolling off the words.

**Screw you, I'm going to bed.**

_Mind if I join?  #nohomo_

**Right, that's it. Fuck _off_.**

_Love you too, honey ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A load of people wanted to see more of this and so I decided to give it a shot. The new chapter of MAI will be coming out soon too so if you enjoy that story look out for that, I just finished this first and thought I might as well post it now.
> 
> Thankyou so much for all the awesome comments and kudos!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call me maybe

**~Two weeks later~**

Blearily Jack blinked the sleep out of his eyes, barely awake as he shot a hand out from the warmth of his blanket towards his phone, which continued to buzz no matter how many half-hearted slaps he gave it. It had been the sound of his phone vibrating against the wood of his bedside table that had woke him from his beauty sleep. He couldn't say he was very happy about it either.

Wait, that didn't sound like his alarm. His foggy thoughts finally detected. Why the hell was it still making noise?

He wriggled around in the soft cocoon of his blanket, sitting up a little as he grabbed his phone from the bedside table; finally registering that someone was calling him as he screwed his face up against the bright light.

Jack considered ignoring it, but he knew if he did he probably wouldn't ever call whoever it was back again. It was one of his many flaws but it wasn't his fault that he hated social calls, mind you; if anyone was to blame it was his mother. A call every single day for nearly two months would drive anyone up the wall.

Still, he pressed the shining green button anyway and held the phone to his ear, sleepily dragging a hand through his dark brown hair as he lay back again. Idly he wondered if he rubbed it hard enough would the grey speckles just come falling out like dandruff? Maybe he should give that a try sometime.

"Wad'ya want?" He grunted; sleep still heavy in his words. Silence greeted him and he groaned quietly, running his hand over his face. Fucking prank calls were such bullshit. He heard muffled giggles echoing down the line and sighed.

"Alright, I'm gonna hang up now." He muttered tiredly, taking the phone away from his ear and making a move to hit the red end call button but halted in his actions when there came a high pitched screech from the phone.

"No! Whoa there! Don't hang up yet!" A female voice rushed out and despite himself, Jack didn't hang up the phone just yet. She had an accent, not very thick but it was still there, just under the surface. Was that Scottish?

"Why not?" He asked, just refraining from rolling his eyes. Not another one.

"Because I- uh." She seemed to scramble desperately for something to say. "I just, umm, I didn't expect you to have such an Irish accent." It was probably supposed to come out as a statement but to Jack it sounded like more of a question.

Jack was fully awake by this point, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Right...um thank you, I guess?"

She chuckled nervously. "Yeah, he has- I mean, you have a really nice voice."

The dark haired Irishman had never been so confused. "Okay?"

"I bet it's even nicer when yo- whoa, hold up." She said, suddenly cutting herself off. A few seconds of silence following before the voice came again; more muffled this time, like someone had put their hand over the mic. "No! I'm not telling him that! Tell him yourself. God you're disgusting! No, you can go shove your money up your ass, that's fucking nasty."

Jack's eyebrows were in danger of reaching his hairline as he heard the distant laughter of a man in the background. "Um...Hello?"

Then she was back. "Sorry about that." She said cheerfully. "Just had some uh... technical difficulties."

The dark haired man blinked as he heard a crash from the other end, the woman muttering a low 'oh for god's sake' before she turned her attention back to Jack. "Yeah, gotta go. This was fun; we should do it again sometime. Bye!"

The call ended there and Jack was left staring at the blank screen of his phone, unable to make anything of what he had just heard.

***

Of course, he wasn't left clueless for long.

_You never told me you were Irish._

Jack received the message while he was at work, sitting behind his desk and staring blankly at his unfinished report when the sudden buzzing of his phone made him jump. Admittedly, his job was what most people would describe as 'mind numbingly boring', but Jack found its repetitive nature inexplicably comforting.

He worked as a personal assistant for the esteemed Mrs Georgia Fischbach, a woman known for her less than becoming attitude, her rather controversial opinions and her absolutely incredible mind. She ran her own business in producing new technological breakthroughs; wrote numerous books on how other people could gain success and even featured on TV chat shows every other week.

As much as some people loved to loathe her, she was good at what she did. Jack had been working with her for nearly a year and a half now and he’d never truly seen her slack off. It was like she never got tired; never got sick of her work, never even thought about the family she had waiting for her until she stepped out the door. To Jack it was nothing short of absolutely fascinating.

But anyway, today he was more than distracted from his work, staring down at his phone with his mouth hanging open. How the hell did he know?

**What the fuck? How do you know that?**

_Sorry, it’s just, it’s been two weeks and I really wanted to know what you sounded like so I asked a friend to call you for me. Of course I didn’t expect the accent, not that I think it’s a bad thing of course! I think it sounds amazing! Shit, I-uh I sound like a creep, don’t I?_

Jack stared at the message, unable to believe what his eyes were seeing.

He’d kept in touch with mystery man; in fact he’d spoken to him every single day since the night of his shitty date. Honestly he’d grown to look forward to the other man’s stupid little questions and the chemistry that seemed to flow in the air when they spoke.

But for some reason, he felt betrayed now.

This man knew so much about him. Nothing specific enough to identify him, but lots of small things that could build up a picture of who Jack was without any need for minute details such as his full name or where he worked. Now he even knew what the Irishman sounded like and Jack didn’t even know his name.

Maybe he wouldn’t feel so bad if he wasn’t so in the dark about who the other man was. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so lied to if the man had allowed him to hear his voice too.

What would he sound like? Jack wondered, allowing his mind to wander for a second. Would his voice be low or high? Smooth or gruff? American or foreign?

It wasn’t fair. Jack wanted to know, he was owed that much. He wanted to know more about this mystery man so he wasn’t a mystery anymore.

He wanted him to have a name, a face, a voice, something, anything that would make him a person that Jack could trust completely. That’s all he wanted. Why was it so much to ask?

_Are you pissed at me?_

Jack hadn’t realised how long he’d been sitting there, looking down at his phone as bitter words filled his mind. Still, maybe this was good. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

**Tell me your name and I’ll forgive you.**

_Please don’t ask me that. I can’t._

**Why the fuck not?**

_Because I’m an undercover spy, duh._

Jack’s leg was beginning to jump as his agitation grew. He threw a quick glance towards his bosses’ office, praying she wouldn’t walk out to find him lounging back in his chair on his phone. That was the last thing he needed.

**Don’t fucking test me when I’m pissed at you. Tell me your fucking name.**

_Look, I really can’t and I have my reasons for that. Please, ask me anything but that._

**Fine, what makes you think it’s fair for you to know everything about me and for me to know nothing about you? I for one, am fucking sick of it. Either answer me or I’m blocking your number.**

And Jack had every intention to. He wasn’t a man to be messed around with, and as much as he would probably regret it later, he would shove this man out of his life in a moment of blind emotions anyway.

He had some chocolate ice cream in the back of his freezer that would keep him company just fine.

And so the brunette waited, the silence deafening as he glared at his phone, his leg jiggling up and down like mad. No answer came, nothing. He didn’t even get a ‘fuck you’ or anything, just silence. Somehow that made him even sadder.

Of course it was Jack’s fault for pushing it. After all, the man made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to reveal his identity, Jack should’ve respected that. It wasn’t mystery man’s fault that the Irishman wasn’t careful enough with what he said, that was on Jack too. He could’ve said nothing.

Still, right now he had his pride on the line, and he couldn’t afford to go back on his word. Looks like mystery man didn’t like him that much after all.

Jack was just about to block the number when his phone started to vibrate in his hand as someone began to call him. One look at the caller ID made his eyebrows come together in confusion.

**Call from: Mystery Man**

The Irishman fought a smile at the stupid nickname he’d given the unknown man. What could he possibly want? It didn’t matter anyway, chances were the man himself wouldn’t breathe a word; his girlfriend would do all the talking for him and Jack would still be left clueless to the man’s identity.

But he was too curious to not answer.

“Hello?” He whispered, making sure to keep his voice low so his boss wouldn’t catch him on his phone during working hours. “Decided to catch a bit more of my ‘amazing’ accent before you leave?”

To his surprise, there came a sigh from the other end, a male sigh.

“Hello, Jack.” The other man said gently, his voice deep and smooth like dark chocolate. The Irishman felt himself go a little weak at the knees. Damn if this was one of Mystery Man’s friends he wanted their fucking number; that voice was to die for. “I still can’t tell you my name, but this makes things fairer, right? It’s my compromise.”

Jack paused for a few seconds before answering, speaking just as softly as before and shifting a little in his seat. “Is this really you talking? It’s not just another one of your friends?”

“I promise it’s really me, and I’m sorry for getting Olivia to speak instead of me last time. I guess I didn’t realise how shitty a move it was until you got pissed at me.” The man sighed softly. “I was worried you’d recognise my voice, but obviously not.”

Jack shook his head before realising Mystery Man couldn’t actually see him. “No I don’t. How would I recognise you? Are you a big TV star I’ve never heard of or something?”

Mystery Man chuckled quietly and Jack found himself unconsciously smiling at the sound, loving the deep rumble right beside his ear. Any other time he might’ve snapped himself out of it, but hey, he was very gay and come on, this man’s voice was like melted gold. Why shouldn’t he enjoy it while he could?

“No, not exactly.” Mystery Man said the laughter still in his voice like an invisible smile. “So, do you accept my compromise? Or are you still all set on blocking me out?”

Jack bit his lip, even though he knew, deep down he’d already made his mind up. “How do I know you’re not dangerous? You haven’t given me a proper reason for your thing against names yet. I don’t know if you’re who you say, or a 70 year old pervert.”

“I guess you’re just gonna have to trust me, Jack. I’m almost certain I’m not a 70 year old pervert but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait to find out.” He said lightly, his smile obvious from his tone. The Irishman couldn’t help but wish he knew what that looked like.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell me your name?” Jack asked quietly, half dreading the answer. What if he said no? What the fuck was the point of having a friend with no name?! The Irishman had never heard of something so ridiculous.

But after a few beats of silence, Mystery Man answered, his voice as low and smooth as ever. “I don’t know. Maybe I will someday. We’ll have to wait and see won’t we.”

Jack was about to answer when he hear the handle of his bosses’ office beginning to squeak as it turned. “Oh fuck, bye.” He gasped before ending the call and sitting up straight in his seat, trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

Georgia strode out of her office practically oozing confidence, her stubby high heels making up for her lack of height. There was a clutch of paper held close to her pale blue dress, her black hair bounced smoothly on her shoulders and as she walked closer Jack could see the dark brown pits of her eyes fixing themselves on him like lasers.

Her intimidating presence filled the room as per usual, and Jack found his heart beating like mad as he tried to look somewhat normal. Fuck what was he supposed to be working on? How much time had he wasted? Oh shit.

“Jack, give these documents to Nate when you see him.” She ordered, her voice full of the authority she knew she had as she laid the pile of papers down on his desk. “How’s the report coming along?”

Jack tried his best not to look panicked as he glanced at his barely started report. Stupid Mystery Man, distracting him from his work.

He smiled up at his boss, hoping the expression didn’t look as strained as it felt. “Nearly done, I’ve still got a few things to be ironed out though, should be done by tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get it done for today, I don’t have time for slacking off. I gave you this job for a reason, don’t make me regret it.” Georgia warned, just as she did every time she wanted to push Jack to do something faster. The Irishman hated to admit it, but it worked every single time.

He couldn’t afford to lose this job; there was nowhere else for him to go. So Jack sighed quietly to himself as he watched his boss walk away, the clip clop of her heels fading into the distance. He began to type furiously, knowing he only had a few hours left until he could go home. As much as he enjoyed his work, he hated staying overtime.

He muttered darkly under his breath as his fingers continued to attack the keyboard with newfound ferocity. Still, that didn’t stop a smile blossoming on his face at the thought of his stupid mystery man. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Why didn’t he say his name? What did he look like? What did he do with his day?

Jack looked down to see that his hands had paused on the keyboard while he was thinking. Sighing quietly the young man took a long sip of his already lukewarm coffee. Jesus it was going to be one hell of a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit look! An update that isn't a month apart!  
> I would write more but I've got a killer migraine and I just wanna sleep so night!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, Nate.

Jack rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, the computer screen in front of him beginning to swim the more he looked at it.

He’d been talking to Mystery Man until late last night. Talking to him, in a phone call, with that amazing voice rumbling in his ear every few seconds. Honestly he couldn’t bear to hang up until way past 12pm and on into the night. Sadly, now he was really regretting his lack of self-control as he fought with everything he had to keep his eyes open and alert, his exhaustion tugging them down dangerously.

Luckily for him, his bosses’ day was far too busy for her to care about how conscious her workforce was, having practically barricaded herself in her office for the entire morning; however that certainly didn’t stop her sending piles of paperwork Jack’s way. Said Irishman groaned quietly as his eyes found the clock.

Jesus his break was a whole hour away. Why the fuck did he take this job again? He was too tired to do anything. What was he supposed to be doing? Fucking Mystery Man. Why did he have to be so goddamned interesting? Him and his amazing deep soothing voice and stupid movie quotes and-

Jack didn’t notice how his eyes were slowly sliding shut until fingers were clicking under his nose, startling him awake abruptly. “You okay, Jack?” A warm voice asked in concern. “You don’t look so good.”

It took a few seconds for it to click in Jack’s mind that the person speaking was Nathan Sharp, better known as Nate; Georgia’s second in command who was probably the closest thing Jack ever had to a friend, even though he was considered more of an acquaintance than anything else in Jack’s mind.

Jack was almost certain Nate was supposed to be giving him orders due to his high status in the company, but the dark haired man never showed it; in fact Jack couldn’t remember the last time Nate had ever asked anything of him. The truth was Nate was too nice for his own good.

“I’m just tired, Nate. No need to worry.” Jack mumbled, bringing his hand up once again to try and rub the exhaustion right out of his eyes for perhaps the third time today.

He heard Nate laugh quietly and opened his eyes to see a bright grin lighting up his face, his black hair flopping across his forehead messily like he’d forgotten to brush it this morning. His ear piercings weren’t in today, apparently Nate had left in a rush this morning.

Jack had always thought Nate’s choice of clothing really didn’t match up to his personality, but never had it been more obvious than today; he wore a white dress shirt with black slacks and a pale blue tie alongside a thick navy blazer for the weather. The Irishman fought back the impulse to wrinkle his nose at the outfit. It all just seemed too bland for this man’s sparkling personality.

“You look like you’re about to drop dead, Jack. Go home and get some sleep. You’re no use to anyone like this.” The taller man said gently, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder as the man’s head hung in defeat. Nate was right of course.

Still, Jack opened his mouth to protest weakly. “I can’t just go. I’m got all this shit to do.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm to emphasis the layers of paper that surrounded him.

Nate rolled his eyes with a bit of a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. “Georgia is working you too hard, I’ll talk her. We can’t let you drown yourself in paperwork and coffee. I won’t allow it.”

“Oh fine.” The brunette groaned, unable to think of a good argument against the dark haired man’s words.

Nate’s grin widened, showing off his pearly white teeth and dimples, as he playfully slapped Jack on the shoulder and started to walk casually away, hands stuffed in his pockets. “See you around, Jack.”

Suddenly Jack noticed a pile of paper sitting precariously on the edge of his desk, a memory clicking in his brain that made him cry out at Nate’s retreating back. “Wait! Georgia asked me to give you those.” He said quickly, pointing at the offending pile of paperwork.

Nate let out a groan of his own. “Aw man, I thought I was finished for today.” He shot Jack a quick smirk as he scooped up the papers. “Bloody woman will be the death of me.”

Jack smiled back at him despite himself, standing up and throwing his jacket around his shoulders. “Thanks so much for covering for me, Nate. I really appreciate it.”  
Nate shot him a toothy grin. “It’s no problem.” He waved the hand that wasn’t holding an armful of paper. “See ya.”

Jack grinned back and turned towards the door, ready to run through the snow to his apartment so he could actually get some sleep. Thank god.

***

Jack shivered as the icy wind went straight through the flimsy barrier of his shirt and pierced his skin; making him tug his jacket tighter around himself, pulling the zipper up to his chin. Jesus it was cold.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Jack began to tread through the slush that covered the pavement as the sound of car engines and Christmas music filled his ears, the strange mixture of exhaust and oily chips filling the air.

The sky was overcast, as usual, the clouds full of what was probably another snowstorm. Jack could feel the tips of his ears and nose turning bright red from the cold and he reluctantly brought a hand up to try to rub some warmth back into the icy skin, earning himself a strange look from a few strangers who passed by.

He ignored them; carrying on past Starbucks and mourning the fact he’d spent all of his spare change this morning. Good god he wanted a coffee so badly. Maybe he should lay off the coffee; he was seriously starting to sound like some high school kid during exam season.

Nah, it’d be fine, he’d just make himself a cup when he got home.

Jack kept walking, trying to keep his head down and avoid the eyes of people rushing past. He would be coming up to the library soon, he hadn’t been in there in a while. Not since the incident with Ryan.

Jack didn’t want to run into that prick. He didn’t want to talk to him or think about him or even breath in his general direction ever again, but at the same time another part of him wanted to tell that bastard exactly what he thought of him. Knock him down in front of everyone and make it so public everyone would know just how much of a dick he really was.

Jesus, Jack wanted it so badly.

That’s probably why the brunette found himself walking into the warmth of the library for the first time in weeks, giving a small smile to the little lady behind the desk as he passed with no time to chat.

His eyes burned with determination as they locked on Ryan’s back, he was surrounded by friends who were all laughing about something. Jack didn’t care; it just meant there were more people to witness what this asshole did.

Jack stormed over to the group, confidently tapping Ryan on the shoulder. The taller man turned around in confusion, not even a glint of recognition in his eyes as they landed on Jack. “Um, can I help you?”

Suddenly Jack felt all of his anger, all of that determination, bleed out of him in an instant, leaving him looking into warm brown eyes that he used to blush over and feeling nothing but emptiness. A deep pit in his stomach that he couldn’t get rid of.

Ryan’s friends were staring at him too, making him feel like the stage was set, he had a single spotlight and a willing audience; but he couldn’t remember his lines. Why was he here again? Why wasn’t he at home already, making himself some shitty cheap coffee?

“Y-you don’t remember, do you?” Jack forced out, mentally cursing himself for stuttering like a little bitch.

Ryan’s eyebrows came together in thought, staring intently at Jack’s face. “No, I don’t think I do. Should I know you?” He asked, curiosity colouring his tone.

“Yes.” Jack spat, unable to help the bitterness that filled his voice. “You’re the dick that stood me up.”

That seemed to jog Ryan’s memory, a smile growing across his stupidly handsome face. “Oh yeah, I remember now. It’s Jack, right?”

Jack glared at him. How dare he be so un-phased? What kind of asshole didn’t care about something like this? Well, then again Jack’s ma always did say he had horrible taste in men.

“Why did you do it?” Jack found himself asking, not remembering the moment he thought up the question nor remembering when he’d allowed himself to ask it in such a tiny voice. Jesus, how old was he, 9?

Ryan laughed quietly, something close to pity in his brown eyes. “Look, Jack, it really wasn’t anything personal. It’s just, I’m not gay and all I had to do was give you that number, there was nothing about a date in the deal so I didn’t go. Sorry, man.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to look confused. “Deal? What deal?”

Ryan blinked. “What? You don’t know?” The library was so quiet, Jack was sure every single person in the building was listening in on this. “Some dude paid me a hundred bucks just to act gay for like ten minutes and give you that number. Total bargain if you ask me.”

Jack felt his mouth drop open in shock. “A hundred bucks? For me?”

He snorted, glancing back at his friends to say. “He’s not the brightest spark, this one.” Making them chuckle quietly before turning back to Jack like he hadn’t heard. “Yeah he offered me a hundred bucks to give you that number, dunno why though.”

Jack was speechless, unable to comprehend what Ryan was saying. He probably looked ridiculous, standing in front of this handsome man with his mouth hanging open and nothing coming out. Still, what the fuck was going on?

Ryan let a laugh escape his lips, making Jack’s stomach leap uncomfortably. “Y’know, I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.” He narrowed his at Jack, eyes scanning his face with a cynical gaze that made Jack want to back out of the building altogether and bury himself in a pile of snow. “I mean, you’re nothing special really; totally not worth hundred bucks. Maybe twenty at a push.”

Jack felt a flush rising to his cheeks despite himself, embarrassment flooding his system as he heard Ryan’s friend’s badly concealed snickers. One of them wasn’t laughing though; a pretty girl with blonde hair who looked at Jack with nothing but pity. She placed one small hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Ryan, give it a rest.” She said softly, looking at Jack solemnly. “You’re being rude.”

Jack hated how much the other man’s words hurt him. Like seriously, he knew he wasn’t the best looking man in the world; his nose was too big for his face, his teeth weren’t straight enough, and his body was far too skinny to be considered anything close to sexy. His entire being was just so mediocre, so plain and forgettable. And it hurt to know he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Ryan rolled his eyes at the girl’s words. “Yeah, yeah fine, whatever you say, ma’am.” He looked back at her, a lazy grin playing on his mouth before letting out a little sigh. “Guess I’ll see you around, Ja-” He cut himself off, looking around in confusion.

Jack was already gone; sprinting out the door as fast as he could and purposely ignoring the hot tears pouring down his face as he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I've been obsessed with Natewantstobattle's music recently but idk shit about him so if I haven't got his character right please tell me and I'll adapt it as best I can. I'm very sorry for the long wait and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Also completely unedited so please tell me if anything's wrong or doesn't make sense :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse this I haven't edited it at all so please point out any mistakes thanks! :D

Jack sat in his office with a headache steadily throbbing behind his eyes, staring blankly down at the poster on his desk and doing his best to ignore Nate’s worried gaze burrowing into his back. He knew he was acting strange, distracted even; his eyes constantly sliding back to his phone no matter how hard he tried to stop them. But there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t help himself.

He was avoiding Mystery Man, and while he knew it was the right thing to be wary, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty.

The man he knew behind the drowsy 1am conversations and the oddly easy sense of chemistry had done absolutely nothing wrong. He was still his mostly friendly, movie quoting self, even though Jack stopped replying to his messages and answering his phone calls almost a week ago. The guilt was twisting his stomach into knots that would baffle the most experienced Boy Scout and he hated it with every part of himself. Jack was punishing the man behind for something he may know absolutely nothing about.  

_Are you mad at me again?_

_What have I done this time?_

_Frankly, my dear. I don’t give a damn._

_That was a quote by the way, don’t get offended you grumpy ass._

_Y’know I can’t do anything about it until you actually tell me what I did._

But then, Jack didn’t know this man. And he shouldn’t forget that.

Every time he attempted to picture the person behind the messages all he saw was a blur with no features, a voice with nothing behind it, a deep seated sense of fear fuelled by a suspicion that he couldn’t ignore.

Someone was _paid_ to give Jack that number.

Someone _wanted_ Jack to talk to this man.

The question was, why?

“Jack?” Nate’s hand landed on the Irishman’s shoulder as he spoke making him look up in surprise. “Are you alright?” The taller man asked, his face a portrait of concern. 

Jack nodded, a small, rather fake, smile playing on his features. “Yeah I’m fine.” He held up the flyer he hadn’t read yet. “I was just wondering if I should go to this thing or not. I mean it sounds like it could be fun but, I don’t know.” The Irishman shrugged noncommittally, the lie rolling easily off his tongue as he looked down at the paper in his hand.

On closer inspection the flyer was an invitation of sorts for the annual office Christmas party that his boss had spent the last week or so organizing for everyone in the building. Georgia hated only doing things halfway, and unsurprisingly she’d once again gone full out; booking a massive community hall for the occasion and hiring one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city to keep her workers well fed and happy. Not to mention the luring promise of a constant flow of free drink for all who attended. It promised to be a good, sophisticated, social evening.

Jack wasn’t very big on parties, a few years ago he’d had his fair share of fun with drink and friends, but now, it just seemed like so much _effort_. It wasn’t like he had a wide social group in the office anyway. He’d probably end up stuck in the corner on his own with a drink in his hand and half the buffet on his plate.

That didn’t sound _so_ bad now that he thought about it.

Nate rolled his eyes before giving the Irishman a grin, flashing pearly white teeth. “Of course you’ve got to come! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go out. It’ll be great, I swear, you won’t regret it.”

The Irishman shrugged, folding the flyer up and shoving it in his jacket pocket with a huff. The party was tomorrow at eight o’clock. Jack could probably deal with a party that started at eight, get his free drink and eat his fill of the buffet before slipping away and land home by ten. Now _that_ was a good plan.

“Maybe you’re right. Should I dress up?” He asked, wondering what kind of party this would be. Most of his fellow employees were around his age or younger so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

The taller man let out a quiet chuckle. “No tuxedos please, Jack. Just wear something decent and go have some fun. I’ll expect to see you there.” And with that Nate gave the Irishman a friendly slap on the back and walked off to the door where the excited chatter of the other workers filtered through. Everyone just wanted their holidays to come so they could finally escape staring at a computer for a whole week.

The Irishman shot one more glance over at his phone as the door shut before he turned back to his computer to email some old CEO that Georgia didn’t care what he had to say and he should fuck off.

Obviously not so blunt, but Jack made sure the message was clear.

He caught himself looking back at his phone a total of five times during the course of writing that email.

Maybe a party was what he needed after all.

***

The hall, despite being extremely large, felt remarkably cramped; far too cramped for Jack’s liking.

Of course he’d gone to the stupid party, the promise of free food was an incredible hook for a man such as himself, and honestly it wasn’t so bad. The food tasted amazing as expected, the resident entertainment, a steady stream of soft, soulful music from a hired singer and guitarist Jack didn’t know just audible over the chatter of his co-workers, the Christmas spirit rife in the air. And best of all, Jack was focusing on finishing his third glass of drastically overpriced champagne.

Now, as predicted, Jack was indeed sitting alone in a corner munching on an oddly fancy version of a sausage roll, but he really didn’t care much, watching with amusement as Sonya, the secretary on the first floor made tense small talk with her ex, pretending she didn’t pour red wine down his shirt the last time they spoke.  

Nate had been absolutely ecstatic when Jack had walked through the doors at the start of the night, apparently under the delusion that now that Jack was here, he would immediately bloom into some kind of social butterfly. Of course that wasn’t the case. Eventually Nate had given up on him and gone to talk to the singer up at the top of the room between songs, his eyes wide with wonder as she chatted to him lightly with a smile on her face. Jack could see her checking out his co-worker from where he sat and grinned. Nate was so oblivious, it was hilarious.

Looking down, Jack noticed his drink was already less than three quarters full. He looked up, weaving through the little social cliques of people to try and suss out where he could get a refill. Someone he didn’t recognise in a waiter uniform had been flying around with a tray full of the stuff; sadly though he seemed to have disappeared.

He got to his feet, leaving his half eaten plate of food on his chair for when he returned, and began to squeeze his way through the crowd in a search for the elusive alcohol. It would be near the buffet, right? That’s where he would put drinks if he was in charge of this thing. Beside the food.

The dark haired man made his way over to the long table that held enough food to feed a small country and sure enough, there, not far from the food sat another table, festively decorated with tinsel with lines of thin, tall glasses with a bottle of pink champagne, along with an assortment of wines and a jug of water for those who didn’t drink along the side.

Instead of immediately going to pour himself another drink, the Irishman’s eyes raked the buffet, or the remains of it. He’d been here for almost an hour and a half and the food had been picked over beyond belief. He was feeling a little more on the tipsy side, the bubbles in the champagne he’d been drinking prickling at his nose and making little giggles escape from his mouth without his consent.

He never meant to get drunk honestly, but he was getting dangerously close, greatly regretting his ignorance of the alcohol content in expensive champagnes.  

A little later than he should have, Jack noticed there was a guy beside him, his hands empty of any kind of drink. He appeared to be searching the crowd for someone, and Jack took the opportunity to blatantly stare; the man was all dark messy hair, tanned skin and broad shoulders wearing casual clothing, a navy button down and a pair of light jeans. Quite the looker.

The man seemed strangely familiar, but Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on it, the sense of recognition so strong he was surprised it didn’t jog something in his brain. He couldn’t possibly work at the office.

The Irishman was sure he’d remember that face.

Jack was speaking before he even realised it, the alcohol making his tongue a little looser in his mouth than normal. “Want a drink?” He asked the stranger, his words still clear and his thoughts coherent enough to be screeching in protest at his actions. Of course he ignored it, moving towards the drinks table, pouring himself another glass with a shaky hand and looking up at the other man with a questioning eyebrow.

The man nodded with a small smile, his eyes sparkling brightly in the slightly dim lighting. Jack did as promised, pouring a second glass of pink fizzy liquid and handing it over, the man muttering a low word of thanks. The Irishman stayed standing there, trying to think of a way to engage the other man in some form of conversation.

“Something about you seems really familiar but, I don’t think we’ve ever met. Is that weird?” Jack eventually blurted. It wasn’t quite what he was looking for, but hey, it was better than nothing.

The stranger laughed, almost nervously, looking down at the floor as something stirred in the back of Jack’s brain. Jesus, that sound seemed so familiar. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Sorry. Something about you does seem familiar, though. That’s so weird.” The man commented with a smile before shrugging. “But hey, we’ve met now, right?My name’s Mark. You are?” He asked, holding out a hand which Jack took without hesitation. The stranger had a firm handshake.

“Jack.” The Irishman said, moving out of the way as some girl he didn’t recognize tried to get past him to get herself a drink. The name Mark was familiar too. Oh God the answer was right there on the tip of his tongue but every time he went to grab it it flew out of reach and he was back to square one. It was frustrating to say the least.

Jack looked back up at Mark who had an odd shocked look in his eyes, a smile spreading across his face as the man raised his glass of bubbly liquid.

“Cheers, Jack. Thanks for the drink.” Mark grinned, but as Jack went to raise his own he found it not to be in his hand as he originally thought. Instead it was on the now vacant drinks table. Or at least, he assumed it was his drink.

Jack picked it up with a slightly drunken giggle before clinking it with Mark’s and taking a large gulp. The sweet taste and the bubbles flying up his nose made him giggle a little more but Mark didn’t seem to mind, if anything he probably found it funny.

He and Mark talked about nothing in particular and Jack wasn’t sober enough to keep track of time. Of course, considering his boss was probably lurking somewhere in the crowd Jack did his best to think coherently, trying to fight off the effects of the alcohol by drinking a few glasses of water to sober himself up a little but only succeeding in leaving himself feeling wonderfully buzzed, but thankfully not particularly drunk.

After letting out a particularly noticeable giggle at what appeared to be nothing Jack hiccupped loudly, a hand coming up to sit on his stomach as he let out a low groan. A wave of nausea had washed over him with no apparent warning. “Shit.” The Irishman muttered to himself, and an unfamiliar hand landing on his back and rubbing in comforting circles.

“You okay, Jack? You’re not looking so good.” Mark murmured with a concerned tone that Jack didn’t trust himself to answer without vomiting all over the floor. This was a classy, Christmas get together. He couldn’t afford to vomit in the middle of the room and destroy the party for everyone else.

He shrugged Mark off, making a bee-line for the front door and hoping a bit of fresh air would truly have as many healing properties as his Ma seemed to think it did. Well, I say making a bee-line, I mean he staggered blindly in the general direction until his hand landed on the handle and he dragged himself outside, his head swimming with alcohol and the urge to puke up everything he’d eaten.

The cool night air of New York made him shiver as he made his way outside, aiming to vomit into the grass where hopefully no one would notice until days later. He dropped to his knees, and as expected did indeed vomit right there and then.

None of this made any sense. Sure, he wasn’t the best drinker in the world but he was almost certain that with the amount he’d drank today he shouldn’t be throwing up his dinner outside the party. He was nowhere near hammered enough for this. What was happening to him?

When he was done Jack wiped his mouth on his sleeve, the dampness from the ground seeping into the knees of his jeans as he sat back on his shins, his vision blurry and his breathing heavy. Not once in all the times he’d drank himself stupid had he ever felt so wretched. Footsteps slapped on the pavement, coming towards him and he did his best to stand on shaky legs, hide some of his shame as well as he could.

It was a fuzzy Mark, coming towards him with genuine worry written all over his face and even fuzzier Nate not far behind. Jack found himself blushing like mad and he wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment alone. At least one of his bosses was here to watch his stupidity unfold. His job had never been more secure.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Nate asked, concern and maybe even a little bit of pity in his eyes as the two finally reached him.

Jack shrugged and opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘I have no fucking idea.’ When he felt his shaky legs give way, black spots dancing across his vision as he tried furiously to blink them away. One of them caught him, he wasn’t sure which, it was difficult to tell.

Whoever it was, lowered his gently onto the cold ground and he heard the two men talking to each other in quick, almost panicked words but Jack couldn’t keep track of what they were saying. It was all too fast. He couldn’t do it.

He closed his eyes once more, trying to get his vision into focus, but his eyelids were too heavy to lift and he found himself slipping.

Not three seconds later he was unconscious, the New York night life buzzing happily around him as he lost sense of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Look who's back!! I'm so sorry for taking forever to update but I wanted to get MAI finished before I continued but thankfully I got this out now (that's kinda why the writing might be a bit shit cause it was VERY rushed) also thankyou so much for all the support on this story! I never expected it to do so well so yeah :)  
> Also I had allotta fun reading all the theories people were commenting in the last chapter so thankyou for that xD
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

‘ _Thank you Julia. Now, I’m afraid the weather for the week is staying on the chilly side; heavy snow clouds are heading for the North whereas if you’re in the South you’ll be looking at temperatures under…_ ’

Jack groaned softly as the weather man’s monotone voice dragged him from his blissfully peaceful sleep.

The dark haired man’s head was pulsing rhythmically behind his eyelids, the pain a dull, persistent throb that showed no signs of letting up. His mouth was remarkably dry, an odd aftertaste of sweet grittiness on his tongue like he swallowed a full spoonful of sugar before falling asleep.

What did he do before falling asleep? He couldn’t remember.

Jesus, that radio was fucking _loud._  

He shifted a little where he lay, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but suddenly the low hum of radio in the background cut off, the silence only broken by the soft thud of footsteps getting steadily closer to where Jack lay. The Irishman tensed at the sound, his eyes shooting open, and then almost immediately shutting again as he winced at the bright light, regretting the action even more as pain shot through his head, this time with a vengeance.

“Y’know Jack, I never really expected our first meeting to turn out like this.” A male voice; deep, smooth and extraordinarily familiar suddenly broke the silence. Jack squeezed his eyes open with a little more hesitation than before, the figure of a man coming into focus, standing not 3 steps away.

“Honestly I’m not sure what I was expecting, but- uh, this never really sprung to mind.” The man was smiling down at Jack lazily, a light layer of amusement coating his words like varnish. He seemed completely relaxed, his eyes full of expectation, watching Jack carefully like he was waiting for him to do something or realize something important. It only succeeded to confuse the poor Irishman even more.

Jack narrowed his eyes at the man suspiciously, a hand coming up for a half-hearted attempt at fixing his sleep mussed hair before he gave up completely. “I- do I know you?” He muttered lowly, distrust giving the question an edge he hadn’t originally intended. That face, that voice, it was all so familiar; but from where?

The man chuckled lightly with a small shrug, seemingly finding entertainment in Jack’s confusion. “Would you like me to give you a clue?” He asked, a dumb smirk playing on his lips that irked Jack for reasons he simply couldn’t explain. This fucker was just being difficult on purpose; playing with him like this was a joke of some sort.

If this was a joke it was in very bad taste.

Jack scowled up at the man, his features full of anger and a drowsy confusion, his mind still a little muddled from sleep. “Why don’t you just fucking answer me? Who the fuck are you and where-” He paused, his eyes flickering past the man and around the room itself for the first time; a spacious room with little furniture (a few black chairs, a coffee in front of them with a little old style radio sitting proudly on it, explains the noise), a main theme of black and white giving it a clean and stylish air.

There was no sign of any personal touches around the place, despite the fact it was obviously the living room of a house, the walls and single table were completely bare of pictures or ornaments of any kind. It felt so…empty.  “Where am I?” He finally finished, a sight waver in his voice and if it was fear, he wouldn't admit that.  

The man let out a short chuckle, but there was sympathy in his eyes, an understanding in them that hadn’t been there before. “You really don’t remember anything from last night, do you?” He asked softly. “You have no idea who I am.”

“I remember a little but it’s uh…choppy at best.” Jack admitted, taking a closer look at the man, his head throbbing painfully at the effort. Thankfully after a few seconds of awkwardly silent scrutinising, a memory slowly fought its way into the forefront of his mind. “You- I met you at the party, right? By the food?” Jack asked softly and felt his shoulders slum with relief and his body sink into the couch at the stranger’s nod.

Well, so long as the dude wasn’t some weirdo off the street Jack was happy for now. He was at least 90% sure everyone at that party was at least semi-safe.

Okay, maybe closer to 70% if he was honest, but still, it was better than nothing.

Jack blinked tiredly up at the man who seemed oddly please the Irishman had remembered even that much. “Who are you?” Jack asked eventually when the silence became all too much. “Sorry, I- I really don’t remember.”

The man shrugged lightly, and seemed to battle with himself for a minute before apparently coming to a decision. “I suppose you’ll find out anyway.” He muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath and released it in a low shuddering sigh before he held out his hand to shake Jack’s, a grim smile gracing his lips and he wasn’t meeting Jack’s eyes.

“Hello Jack, my name’s Mark and I- uh, I’m not sure how to put it so I’ll just kinda say it, but I’m the man you’ve been texting for the past month and a half.” He looked Jack in the eyes for the last few words and the Irishman could see just now genuinely nervous the other man was as he finally spat them out. “Nice to meet you.”

Jack felt his face drain of blood and his heart drop to his stomach. No. Fucking. Way.

The Irishman didn’t take the offered hand, instead choosing to fix the other man with a look of intense suspicion, disbelief taking the edge off most of the initial wave of anger and unanswered questions that made him feel slightly lightheaded. It all seemed far too coincidental, too strange for him to trust it so quickly.

Of course it wasn’t like he’d been advertising his private conversations with Mystery Man with anyone, even with Nate who firmly remained the only person who he interacted with on a daily basis. Jesus, he needed to get out more. But anyway, there was no way this dude could’ve just heard about it randomly along the grapevine, but all the same, Jack wanted to be sure.

“Prove it.” He said firmly, his voice colder than he meant it to be. “Then we’ll talk.”

Mark nodded understandingly, dropping his hand to his pocket and removing a sleek, black smartphone that lacked any kind of imperfection or signs of wear. Must be new, Jack noted.

The other man quickly opened up the phone and began typing something out on the screen. Not two seconds later Jack felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket. There was no need to check it; he knew who it was from. The Irishman releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

So this was legit then.

There were a few drawn out seconds of weighted silence between the two men before Mark finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, like he was scared to break it. “You’ve been ignoring me. Why?”

Looking up at the other man, Jack tried to keep his face as expressionless as possible but he had a feeling his mouth was turning down anyway despite his efforts. He’d always been shit at the whole poker face thing.

“I found out about Ryan.” He finally replied, trying to match his tone to Mark’s though it came out just a little too forceful.

Jack studied the older man’s face carefully, searching for- well he wasn’t quite sure what he was searching for, a hint of panic? Fear? Recognition? Whatever it was he didn’t find it. Instead he was stuck with a blank look of confusion on Mark’s features that did nothing but irritate the Irishman.

“Who’s the hell is Ryan?” Mark asked, looking at Jack like he’d grown a second head.

The Irishman glared at him, all attempts at being a good, emotionally suppressed adult basically going out the window as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, the move making his head ache all the more but he continued to ignore it. “The man you fucking paid to give me your fucking number, that’s who!” Jack growled, his anger coming off him in waves, his eyes flashing dangerously at the other man.

Mark’s eyes went wide with surprise for a second before going back to the same confusion as before. “That? _That’s_ what you’re pissed off with me for?” He exclaimed in disbelief, half a grin tugging at the side of his mouth as thought this were somehow funny to him. “I thought you’d be flattered.”

The younger man scowled at that. “Flattered? Why the fuck would I be flattered by a man who couldn’t be bothered to hand me his own fucking number without paying someone else to do it for him.”

Mark’s smile slipped from his face. “Of course you should be flattered, name me one other person who would pay a hundred bucks just for the chance to talk to you, get to know you. Don’t be so fucking ungrateful, I-”

Jack rolled his eyes at that, cutting the other man off before he could finish, his voice strong and anger fuelled despite the way his head felt as though it were about to burst. “I’m bet a hundred dollars to you is nothing so don’t you stand there acting like I should be _thanking_ you. Rich fuckers with deep pockets think they can just flash the cash and everyone will just fall at their feet, that’s not how it works.” The Irishman swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood sharply to emphasis his point. “Not with me.”

Just as he tried to take a step Jack knew he’d made a mistake trying to stand so quickly, his legs feeling incredibly weak and his head heavy on his shoulders. One second he was standing and the next he was once again sitting on the couch, with a surprised little huff of air.

To his surprise Mark moved towards him before Jack shot him a seething glare that stopped him dead in his tracks. Jack rubbed his temples in an attempt to quell the continuous throbbing there before he realised just what the situation really was. Even if he could make his way out of here he had no idea where ‘here’ even was. God, he’d have to talk to short, rich and inflated ego at some point to get information, no matter how much he didn’t want to. Brilliant.

“Where am I?” He finally muttered softly, looking up to where Mark seemed to have made a tactical retreat to a black chair about a metre away from the couch, watching him carefully from a distance.

Mark shrugged, his expression like a kicked puppy. “Nate and I took you to the hospital to get you checked out after you passed out; when the doc gave you the all clear we weren’t sure where you lived so we just brought you back here, Nate’s house. I-uh I’m sorry we couldn’t get you home.”

Jack nodded quietly, shooting another look around the high ceiling and empty fireplace at the other end of the room. The place could probably fit both his bedroom and kitchen without too much of a squeeze. It’s not like he couldn’t spare the space, he thought to himself with a pinch of bitterness that he would never own up to.

“It’s fine. But I-,” Jack finally realised how strange it was to wake up on a couch in such an obviously large building. Surely Nate had a bedroom to spare. “Why am I on the couch?”

Mark’s eyes lit up with a mischief at that, as his mouth turned up in a little smirk like he couldn’t help himself, the gloomy expression forgotten for a moment. “There are only two bedrooms in this place and neither of us really felt like sharing. Of course, you were unconscious at the time so I’m afraid you didn’t get a vote.”

Jack snorted, he couldn’t help it. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Mark laughed a little at that and Jack found it hard to stay pissed off at such a happy face so he turned away, pretending to examine the blank white wall to the right of him that was identical to all the other walls in the room as he tried to clear his expression. He heard Mark sigh heavily behind him and it might have just been his imagination but Jack could’ve sworn it held a hint of disappointment.

Yeah, probably his imagination. Hopefully his imagination.

“Nate should be back soon.” Mark said softly, like Jack were sleeping and he was afraid of waking him. He sounded almost sad at the words. “I- I’ll just go upstairs and leave you to get some rest, okay?”  

Jack kept his eyes firmly on the wall until Not-such-a-mystery-anymore Man’s footsteps were clunking up what he could only assume were stairs, his heart sinking a little more with every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I know it's been forever but I hope this is up to standard and you enjoyed it all the same :) I have no time to proof read it so please tell me of any mistakes and thankyou so much for your awesome theories they were really fun to read :D If anything doesn't make sense please do tell me.
> 
> BYEE!


	7. Chapter 7

**~3 days later~**

Jack was in a pissy mood before he even walked through the office doors.

Not even Nate dared go near him and his thunderous expression straight through till lunch, during which the Irishman was to be seen sitting in his chair, moodily taking bites out of his sandwich with far more force than was necessary. The only person who dared break Jack’s self-inflicted exile was, of course, his boss with a short, pointed email that ordered him to go to her office immediately after lunch finished.     

After that Jack took a few minutes off from his angry brooding, chewing his sandwich thoughtfully as he contemplated whatever job threateningly important detail he’d left out of his latest report or if he’d forgotten to add an essential meeting to her schedule over the past week or so.

Thankfully nothing came to mind so Jack decided it couldn’t be _that_ job threatening and continued to soak in his own little puddle of frustration and irritation for a bit longer, glaring at his computer like it had done him a personal wrong. Obviously it wasn’t the computer’s fault for his shitty mood; in fact, his Ma was to blame for that.

 _His ma_.

She was a good woman, and Jack knew that. He knew she’d been dealt an impossible hand from the very start and still came out a winner, he respected her for that. Sometimes she could come across a little overbearing and overprotective without meaning to, even back when he was a child, but after everything that happened back home it was like her dial was turned up to 100 and it all just became too much to handle  

So he’d left.

He’d just packed his bags and ran away to New York and only added to the weight on her mind, the thought her little boy in such a massive city haunting her like a ghost.

She used to call him daily, her voice full of sorrow, but at the time he had little patience for what mumbled apologies she had to offer. Of course, deep down he knew it wasn’t her fault. None of it, not really. But he just wanted to be alone; eventually completely cutting himself off from everyone back home in an attempt to forget.  

He hadn’t heard from anyone back home in nearly 3 months now.

That is, until this morning.

At the time he’d been avoiding his phone as though it were infected with a deadly disease, and that disease was called ‘Mark’.  He’d been doing his best to ignore the problem, something he normally wouldn’t have an issue with; then again his problems didn’t normally walk around on two legs and send him 7 messages per night begging for forgiveness.

Most problems just sat there quietly until he decided to stop procrastinating and sort them out. Honestly was it _so_ hard for Mark to just shut up and take the hint that, right now, he fell into roughly the same category as the fucking rent?

Jack had just about reached the end of his rather short tether whilst drinking his coffee at his kitchen table at 7 o’clock in the morning; as soon as the phone rang he’d answered the thing without even glancing at the ID, determined to tell the prick to just fuck _off_ before the caffeine caught up to his brain and allowed him to think it through properly.  

Because after all who else could it possibly be? No one called him anymore.

It wasn’t Mark.

Jack immediately regretted answering at all, his Ma’s familiar voice ringing down the line, a note of surprise and relief in her voice at being answered that made him feel just a little bit guilty for ignoring her. Okay, more than a little.

It’s just she sounded so fucking _excited_. “Jack! Oh Jack, how are you?” She cooed like he was still a little baby. “It’s been so long! How’s America? Have you been eating enough? What’s the weather like? How’s work? Are you sleeping okay? You never told me you have a boyfriend!”

Jack’s mouth had silently fallen open at the sudden onslaught of questions that had probably built up over the past few months but at his mother’s last statement he made an odd huff of disagreement that made her pause.

“What’s wrong, Jack? I’ve missed you so much. We were so worried. When are you coming to visit?” She asked, her voice softer, older, and Jack felt his heart ache in his chest at the loneliness he could hear there.

Jack had rubbed a hand over his face, certain the exhaustion of his early morning wakeup call still could be heard in his voice. She would only worry more, knowing her. “Ma, look, everything’s fine, I’m absolutely fine, I swear. The weather’s cold,” He heard her intake of breath and cut her off before she could speak again. “Yes I’m wrapping up warm for it. Now, what boyfriend?"

His Ma laughed softly and Jack felt a wave of homesickness wash over him. He came to New York to be alone. Perhaps it worked a little too well.

“I’m sorry for being such an old mother hen; I just worry about you, Jack.” His mother continued.  “And I mean that nice boy who talked to me the other day, very polite young man. He picked up the other night when you were sleeping. Absolutely lovely boy. Oh why do you never go for the nice ones, Jack?”

Jack couldn’t ignore the spark of anger that ignited in his stomach at the words. Who did Mark think he was? Did the prick not understand the basic unspoken rules of privacy?

Apparently not considering he took Jack’s phone right out of his fucking pocket to answer a _private_ call from his mother.  

Not that he would’ve answered it anyway, but that wasn’t the point.

“Ma, we are _not_ having this conversation and anyway, he’s not even-”

“Alright, alright I’m just saying it’s such a shame.” His Ma sighed and Jack was rapidly remembering exactly why he’d stopped answering these stupid calls in the first place. She was better now than she was before, but she never really stopped altogether. “Honestly I have no idea where you got it from but-”

“Ma, stop. Mark is barely an acquaintance let alone a fri-” Jack began but his mother was having none of it.

“So his name is Mark then? I never did catch his name. Maybe you’ll bring him around the next time you visit? I’d love to meet him in person.” His mother was such a sucker for good manners. She would probably invite the devil himself in for a cup of tea and a chat if he asked her nice enough.

Eventually Jack just agreed with her, making an empty promise of a visit that he knew wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Her satisfaction only made him feel worse about the lie, listening to her happily babbling about Christmas turkey prices and how Dad nearly broke his arm putting up the decorations last weekend. Where all his other siblings were right now.

She didn’t mention Michael, Jack noticed and he felt a wave of gratitude towards his mother crash over him. Maybe she finally got it, maybe she didn’t; either way he knew she was making an effort not to talk about him in front of Jack and he couldn’t be more relieved.

It didn’t take her long until his Ma revealed the _real_ reason she called. Of course it wasn’t just a social call, her calls never really were.

“Oh by the way, I was talking to Aiden the other day, he says he’s heading to New York on Friday so he’ll probably come around for a visit.”

“Aiden?” Immediately, as if out of reflex, Jack let out a groan at the name, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. God he could feel a headache coming on. “Oh what the fuck does he want?”

His Ma made a strange sound, a combination of both a breath of laughter and a huff of disapproval before continuing. “Now don’t be like that. He’s your cousin. You should be happy to see him again after so long.”

Jack rolled his eyes even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “I can’t wait.” He said, packing the words full of as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“I can tell.” She deadpanned. “So much so, that you’ll kindly give him a place to stay while he’s over there?” His mother was using the same voice she used while trying to shove vegetables down his throat as a child. Persuasive and full of hidden intent.

“No, he can’t stay with me; I’ve got nowhere to put him. Tell him to get a hotel room or something.” Jack said firmly, conviction in his tone. "I hear the local dog shelter might have some extra space, he could try there."

She sighed. “C’mon Jack, it’ll just be for a night or so, he’s heading over to one of those states I can’t pronounce, just passing through though, I promise. Please?”

The Irishman had fallen silent at that, thinking.

Aiden certainly wasn’t on Jack’s list of top 10 favourite family members; he drank too much and showered too little to even qualify. Worse than that the man seemed to take some kind of sick pleasure in the other’s discomfort; a cruel streak inside him that Jack had always been wary of even as a child. You know, the ‘I like to pull the wings off live butterflies for fun’ breed of child.

The real question was could Jack really stand being in the same room as the fucker for a whole night without resorting to murder. Honestly, he couldn’t be sure; it might be a close call.

At his silence his Ma spoke again, her voice a little cooler this time. “I’ll consider it as an apology for ignoring me for three months, how does that sound?”

The flare of anger that sparked in Jack’s stomach didn’t even surprise him. For some reason he didn’t want her to know how guilty he was about his avoidance of his family. He didn’t want her to hear just how much he’d missed everyone back home. He’d talked more to Mark over the past few weeks than he’d talked to his family in the past year.

That said a lot.

All the same the Irishman still opened his mouth to defend himself even though he knew he could never win this argument. “Sounds like you trying to make me apologise for having a life of my own. Just because I’m too busy to sit on the phone with you every minute of the fucking day doesn’t mean-”

“You’re telling me that not once in _three months_ you didn’t have enough free time to just send someone a text to tell us you’re okay? Do you know how worried I was Jack? Do you have any idea what that was like?” His Ma persisted, not raising her voice, quite the opposite in fact. Her voice became deadly soft, anger vibrating in every word.

Jack let out a sigh. That voice barely fazed him anymore; he’d grown up on it after all. “No I didn’t have the fucking time and for God’s sake don’t be so overdramatic, Ma. You knew I was fine.”

“Knew? How on earth could I possibly know? You went completely silent. Nobody knew what happened to you. If your intention was to scare or hurt me and your father you goddamned succeeded. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

That hit a nerve Jack wasn’t even aware was there; because maybe he did want that, just a little. Maybe he wanted to force his mother to feel something for him even if it was something as painful as fear for his safety. Perhaps he wanted to force her to think about him in any way other than as the child who ran away because he couldn’t handle it.

He was fucking disgusting.

“I never wanted that.” Jack spat out. Why would he even bother to defend something he knew he was in the wrong for? He could’ve just apologized and agreed to her terms like a fucking adult. It was like he wanted this stupid fight. “It’s hardly my fault you both worry over nothing.”

She laughed then, and it held no hint of humour. “There you go Jack, you’re right. Of course it’s never your fault. When do you ever take the blame?” She took in a shuddering breath and Jack was surprised to find she was holding back tears. “I’ll tell Michael you called.”

And with that she’d hung up, leaving Jack standing in his kitchen, his fists clenched tightly with fury and only 5 minutes to run to work.    

That’s how he ended up here, watching the seconds slowly tick by until he inevitably had to get up and drag himself into Fischbach’s office without any trace of emotion on his face.

When the time came Georgia was as sophisticated as ever, her hair tied in an intricate knot at the back of her head and her dark eyes fixated on him as soon as he stepped foot in the room. Her office was remarkably plain but organised, her desk completely clear apart from a few papers placed in careful piles along the edge.

Jack made sure to keep his body language as calm and relaxed as possible, despite the fact he was almost certain his boss was bound to hear the nervous thrum of his heartbeat from where she sat.    

His anger had fizzled out as soon as she laid eyes on him, an acute sense of fear washing over him instead as he took a seat in front of her, a comfortable seat too. Georgia didn’t hold back when it came to the comfort of her employees.

Jack had never been called into the office before and it was only now that he was here that the reality of it really set in. His emotions had driven him to distraction all morning and oh God now he was going to lose his job. He was so screwed, what is he going to do without this job? How would he support himself? What the hell was she looking at him like that for?

Silence passed between them for a few seconds, thick with tension before Georgia leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her as she studied the young Irishman. “Jack, I want to talk to you about something, but first I need you to swear that what we say in this room stays here when you leave. Understood?”

The Irishman felt confusion and curiosity flicker across his face before nodding his head silently.

Georgia didn’t speak again; instead she continued to fix him with an expectant look, waiting for something. It took him a few seconds but eventually it clicked and he clumsily spluttered out the confirmation. “I mean I- Yes. I swear.”

That seemed to satisfy her and she sat up straight in her chair, her eyes not leaving him once. It was strange but he found he wouldn’t mind much were it not for the choking atmosphere of anxiety that surrounded him, threatening to smother him. He’d never been comfortable in Georgia’s presence, but this had been far too stressful a day already and it threatened to engulf him.

“Now, Jack. Let’s talk about your dealings with my dear brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I know it's been forever and i'm sorry but here we are with a super long chapter that's hopefully someway decent so there, I hope you enjoyed it and constructive criticism is always welcome :D
> 
> Until next time...BYEE!


	8. Chapter 8

“Your brother?” Jack repeated slowly, confused as ever.

Georgia nodded, brown eyes watching him in a way that was irrevocably familiar; an interesting mix of expectancy and a stone cold impatience that did absolutely nothing to calm the young man’s nerves or kick his brain into gear.

“I have it on good information that you’ve been associating with him, no need to pretend otherwise, at the moment your excuses don’t matter to me.” She said calmly and continued to talk even though Jack’s mouth had fallen open in protest. “What I’m interested in is why.”

“I- your brother? I haven’t been talking to your brother. Your brother is-” And then it clicked; Jack could practically feel the blood drain from his face. “Mark. Mark Fischbach.” He whispered in undisguised horror, his eyes wide with realisation. “Your brother is Mark Fischbach.” He repeated, just so the thought truly sank in.

Oh God.

It all made sense.

No wonder Mark didn’t want to reveal his name, no fucking wonder he thought Jack would recognise his voice. Jesus Christ Jack had been a complete and utter fool and only now, sitting in his boss’s office with the man’s sister sitting right in front of him, did he finally fucking remember what was so damn familiar about Mark Fischbach.

Jack couldn’t believe he’d been so blind.

Around two years ago Jack had probably known more about Mark Fischbach than he did his own mother, and that wasn’t even an exaggeration. The press had flocked to cover the downfall of the youngest Fischbach, throwing him into disgrace and marking his name with an ugly stain that was permanently etched into the general public’s mind-set.

At the time the newspapers rarely spoke about anything else other than the inspirational young millionaire’s spiral into alcoholism after his father’s untimely death. They blathered on and on about how he left the company throne sitting empty and vulnerable, open for a wild and dirty grapple of power that had only ended when Georgia herself took the job and dragged the business out from the anarchy it had fallen into. The public lost interest a few days later and Mark Fischbach had faded into the background, his fifteen minutes of fame well and truly spent.

Jack had read the articles, heard the interviews both young and old and watched with fascination as an entire business was raised from the ashes before his very eyes. Honestly it was one of the things that made the younger, perhaps more naïve 21 year old Jack, still stuck in college and surviving off takeout, start to dream of running away to the Big Apple and work for such inspirational giants as Georgia Fischbach.

Suddenly Jack wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“I’m glad we’ve established that my brother is, indeed, my brother. Now that you’re sure could you please answer my question as to why you’re suddenly socialising with the man?” Georgia’s clipped tone snapped Jack right out of whatever kind of daydream he was lost in and gave the woman his full attention praying his distraction hadn’t been as noticeable as it felt.

“I ugh, I didn’t know who he was at the time.” He let out a low cough, suddenly realising just how stupid it sounded when he said it out loud.

Oddly he felt something akin to shame for talking to someone with such a reputation as the youngest Fischbach. He could remember watching him on the Tv and wondering how anyone on this earth could stand such an arrogant and self-absorbed asshole, yet here he was, fresh from a good few weeks of pleasant, light hearted conversation with the man. How ironic.

“What do you mean?” Georgia asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, disbelief strong in her words. Jack could hardly blame her for it.

“I- I don’t know.” He murmured, pretending to think even though he knew exactly why. It’s kind of hard to recognise C-list ‘celebrities’ when you’re feeling the buzz of alcohol in your blood and being rushed to hospital unconscious because of a spiked drink. “I just didn’t recognise him at the time, it didn’t really click. Why do you ask?”

Georgia seemed to accept the answer but her eyes narrowed at the question. “That is none of your concern.” She said coolly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest, something far too close to defensive for Jack to feel comfortable.

“Would you consider yourself his friend?” The woman asked after a few seconds, her question tinged with curiosity, those dark eyes back to watching him carefully, not unlike how her brother’s had before. Mark smiled more than his sister, Jack noted. Thinking about it that man could probably light up a dark room with that blinding grin he’s got going on.

Still, Jack answered her question with little thought. “No, he’s barely an acquaintance.”

She nodded curtly at that, like she expected such an answer. “I thought as much. My brother always did like to keep himself to himself after all.” Jack watched as a cloud of sadness darkened Georgia’s face for a second before disappearing completely. She met his eyes steadily; determination in every line of her face and suddenly Jack was reminded for a split second that she was indeed only a few years older than he was; stress aging her well beyond her years.

“Jack, if you see my brother again I want you to report back to me, understood?” Georgia said carefully, and Jack’s eyebrows flew up to meet his hairline.

“Report back to you?” He repeated in surprise. “Like…like a spy?”

She smiled, the expression filled with such bitter sadness that Jack wanted to look away. His boss had never been so easy to read and it terrified him to see her expression so open. “If you want to call it that, then yes, like a spy.” Georgia said calmly, and Jack could hear an almost condensing tone to her voice as she said it, like she was humouring a child. “My brother seems to have taken a particular interest in you and I would like to know why.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at that. “But- but I don’t understand. Why me? What does he want?”

She let out a quiet laugh but the sound was hollow. “I doubt even Mark knows what he wants anymore.” A few seconds later when it was obvious Jack wasn’t going to speak she continued, professionalism back in full force. “I’ll pay you for your time of course.”

Reaching for a pen and a piece of paper, Jack watched as she wrote a number, his eyes widening further as she added more figures to the sum. Good God, all that to just relay a few simple conversations? She’s fucking crazy.

Then Jack’s mind drifted back to the tiny, cramped apartment he owned, and sure, it was good for now, but he had no desire to live there forever. This could be the financial boost he needs to get himself a new place. Somewhere nicer, bigger with some air conditioning that actually worked sounded incredibly tempting.

Georgia looked him in the eyes expectantly and Jack looked from the paper on the desk to her serious expression and then back again. He knew it was hardly an honourable thing to do, but the Fischbachs’ were obviously no strangers to paying others to do their dirty work for them. Jack’s mind flew back, remembering Ryan and how good an actor people could become when an easy $100 was on the table. The thought, if nothing else, only strengthened his resolve, after all he owed Mark absolutely nothing so even if the other man found out there would be no penalty.

There was really no reason to say no.

So he nodded. “Fine, I’ll do it.” And Georgia seemed pleased, promising the money would be sent straight to his bank account with each report. He guessed she meant face to face meetings and not the stupidly strange, almost childlike conversations he had with Mark on the phone. He saw no reason to tell the woman about how he and Mark met or how often they once spoke. That was private information somehow, something he didn’t want to share.

After a few beats of silence during which Jack wondered what else to say, Georgia spoke again, a grateful smile still playing on her lips. “Thank you, Jack. I’m sorry to have kept you so long, you’re free to leave.” She said finally and Jack stood to go, his still mind reeling slightly at the thought he’d been talking to _the_ Mark Fischbach for nearly two months straight and that he’d continue to do so for a full wallet.

He made his way out the door to Georgia’s office, giving Nate a brisk nod as the other man made his way inside. A quick glance at the time and Jack knew there was no real point in heading back to his computer now, with only 5 minutes or so of his shift left.

He snatched up his coat, avoiding the curious eyes of his co-workers and made his way out of the building, soon his feet were crunching on the newly fallen snow as he walked down the street.

The Irishman took his normal route home without thinking, the one that went straight past both Starbucks and the library. It was his favourite route to take, especially on cold evenings when he would pop into the coffee shop for a quick energy boost or hide in the heat of the library until he felt he could face the elements again.

It was strange; he’d been avoiding this path due to fear of meeting Ryan or his friends again but now he found a strange kind of bravery overtake him. His new side mission giving him a little boost of confidence that made him stand up a little straighter and tilt his chin up a little more. A kind of ‘bring it on’ attitude that he certainly wasn’t used to.

He noticed a girl standing outside the library, putting up posters of something on the corkboard hanging just inside the doorway; it was probably one of those small college bands trying to chase their dreams in New York of all places. As he passed he met the girl’s eyes for a short second but the Irishman continued to walk around the corner, musing at the memories of his own college experience before he heard the slam of a door behind him and the pounding of running feet.

He turned curiously, wondering what idiot thought it was a good idea to try running when the pavement was practically made of ice and snow, but was alarmed to see a mane of blonde hair whip across his vision just before his back crashed into the wall of the building next to him.

Jack’s heart sped up dramatically; he could feel it hammering hard against his ribs as he looked into the face of the girl he’d seen seconds before, her posters now crumpled in her hand and her eyes wild as the other shoved into his chest. “What the fuck did you do?!” She shouted in his face, the noise making the man flinch away; his head only meeting the wall. When she got no response the girl pushed down on his chest harder, restricting his breath. “Where the fuck is he? What the fuck have you done to him you sick bastard!”

The girl looked hysterical, her hair tangled, oily and un-kept; a stench of sweat and stale alcohol surrounding her figure and her clothing wrinkled as though she’d slept in it. Her eyes were wide and full of a pure, untainted hatred Jack had never before witnessed. Her breaths came out quick and uneven as she kept Jack pinned there; the man too shocked to react. If she were a mugger he probably would’ve lost everything in his pockets twice over in the time it took for him to shake himself out of his stupor.

Eventually his mouth seemed to remember how to work. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, are you insane?!” Jack shouted back because the amount of terror running through him was starting to make him shake like a leaf, his previous confidence long gone. He brought his hands up and pushed at her hold and with a grunt of effort shoved her away altogether.

The girl landed in a heap on the icy cement with a pained huff and Jack got ready to run but then she didn’t get back to her feet, instead starting to cry helplessly. He heard the loud, broken sobbing escaping from her as she desperately gathered up her posters that she must’ve let go of as she fell. It was an awful sound, the sound of someone in such a state of grief they’d lost all sense of everything else. All rational thought, all logic meaningless.

Jack had heard it before.

She was clutching her posters to her chest, her body shaking with the force of her grief as she curled into a ball, her thin arms wrapping around her knees as she rocked back and forth on the icy pavement. Jack looked around desperately for help but they were the only two there; an odd occurrence on the streets of New York. It felt as though the entire city had just stopped, taking a moment of silence to witness the woman’s heartbreak before continuing on its way, its pace as fast and unforgiving as ever.

Jack knew he couldn’t just leave her here, alone and exposed on the street where anyone could grab her; his conscience wouldn’t allow it. Maybe he could get her into the library, calm her down a little and get her to explain herself. Obviously she wasn’t thinking straight.

So cautiously he inched towards the girl, unsure of how exactly he was going to move her, when her arm shot out from nowhere, latching onto his forearm and holding on with a vicelike grip that would surely bruise. He cried out in shock, trying to pull away with a sharp jerk but the blonde refused to let go, her watery eyes fixed on him, accusing. Tears ran freely down her red face; mascara streaking her cheeks in a dark mess against her pale skin, almost as white as the snow on the street.

“It was you! You did this!” She cried, her voice breaking and Jack could see people in the windows of a nearby building gawking out at the scene before them, some recording it with their phones, others with a phone pressed to their ear. They must’ve heard her. Jack silently prayed that at least one of them had enough thought to call the police though there was no guarantee.

Jack continued to struggle as best he could but she was stronger than she looked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, alright? Get off me!”

And that’s when one of the posters caught his eye.

It wasn’t a band poster at all, but a picture of a man with some text written underneath and above it.

The picture was of Ryan, the man Jack had been trying to forget for weeks.

And the writing above it clearly read it thick block lettering:

**MISSING**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I hope you liked reading this chapter cause I know I had a great time writing it xD I'm pretty sure this plotline is getting shitty af but hey, I'll probably write more anyway until it's done :) 
> 
> Also thank you very much for the surprisingly large amount of support for this story like seriously I thought it'd get like 3 kudos and no more so thanks for that :D Of course if anything makes no sense or you have something I should work on please feel free to tell me :P  
> Until next time...BYEE!


	9. Chapter 9

Jack eventually managed to pry the girl’s fingers away from his arm, the release so sudden he fell backwards onto the street, his palms grazed on the rough pavement as he quickly scrambled out of the girl’s reach, breathing heavily.

Her dark eyes glared hotly back at him, her hand grasping at thin air for a split second before she drew it into her chest, hugging herself against the chilly air. She looked so small like that, practically curled into a ball on the pavement, shivering slightly against the cold, her cheeks still streaked with tears. She looked like a child, small and angry.

Jack found he couldn’t care less as he pulled himself onto his unsteady feet, bringing a hand up to rub at his arm, the skin already turning pink. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He spat, his back still aching from where the bitch had shoved him into the wall hard enough to bruise.

“What’s wrong with me? You took my fucking brother you bastard.” The girl yelled and Jack could see tears still swimming in her furious glare. She pushed herself to her feet, her entire body trembling like a leaf but with anger or cold Jack couldn’t tell. “There was nothing wrong with him until after _you_ left. The police fucking _laughed_ at me. They said there was no point even _looking_. They said-" She closed her eyes for a second, stopping herself. "It doesn’t matter, I don’t know what the fuck you did to him but I want my brother back. Right. Now.” Her voice cracked pathetically on the last word.

So that was the connection, Ryan was her brother. Jack supposed the resemblance was there, if faint. They did kind of have the same hair, he thought blandly, eyes glancing over the girl’s bedraggled blonde locks. Maybe they had the same eyes, he continued, trying to conjure up an image of Ryan in his head. What colour were Ryan’s eyes again?

He couldn’t remember.

Slowly, Jack began to back away. “Look, I didn’t touch him. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know what happened to him. All I know is that he’s an asshole who set me up.” He held his hands out, almost in surrender. “I don’t- I don’t know what you want me to say.”

The Irishman’s bewildered, slightly terrified expression didn’t seem to be the reaction she was looking for, her face crumbling before his eyes and a hand coming up to cover her mouth, a tiny, broken sob escaping through her fingers all the same. She shook her head, an awful glint of realisation entering her face before it was smothered once more in a tidal wave of denial.

“You- you don’t know? B-but how can y- No, you have to know. It was you. It has to be you.” She stuttered as Jack moved further and further away, occasionally shooting pleading glances up at the people gazing curiously down at them both but no one moved to help him. “Why do you not know?!” She shrieked.  

Jack stumbled a few more steps, the pavement icy under his feet. “I’m sorry but I can’t help you.” He murmured weakly as he turned his back on her; purposely ignoring the thud of a body falling on the ground behind him and praying to whatever deity was listening that some kind bastard would get to her before the city nightlife came out to play. He picked up his pace when his ears picked up on the terrible sobbing echoing down the street towards him.

And if he was full out sprinting by the time he got through his apartment door that’s nobody’s business but his.

***

The next day Jack couldn’t concentrate on anything. Not fully.

He went through his usual day off routine; getting up, taking a shower, doing some work on his laptop, going out for a jog when the silence of his apartment became too much to handle. It didn’t seem to matter what he tried to do, his mind wasn’t in it, drifting away without his permission into things he’d rather forget.

To the blonde haired girl with the eyes filled with despair and the handful of muddied MISSING posters sitting on the sidewalk, alone, shivering in the cold as a menacing shadow loomed over her. Jack tried to convince himself someone had the heart to help her without a darker reasoning behind it.

It wasn’t working.     

After all, he could see the girl was going through an awful time and she obviously wasn’t mentally stable enough to be held accountable for her actions. He understood that. In fact if anything he wished he could just hate her instead of feeling this obscene guilt gnawing at his stomach all the time. He didn’t need this. He wanted to forget.

So instead of acting like any ordinary person and try to work it out with himself, Jack worked himself to a state of physical exhaustion in the hopes of killing off an emotional problem. Honestly the gym had always worked before; exercise seemed to enjoy blissfully destroying any kind of thought other than the feeling of his muscles straining against the onslaught of abuse he was putting them through. It was good for him; soothing.  

Well, not today. Instead he found himself collapsing after his fourth rep, panting heavily with sweat dripping down his flushed face. He couldn’t stay motivated, he couldn’t force his body through the torture when his brain wasn’t 100% on bored with the whole ‘ignore the problem until it goes away’ thing he so enjoyed to practice.

Maybe that was why, nearly an hour later, Jack found himself sitting in his apartment again, his hair damp from the shower and a fresh shirt on his back, staring down at his phone indecisively. He played around with it in his hands thoughtfully before he eventually went for it in one stupid split second decision, sending the text he’d been mulling over for the past ten minutes.

After all, he had to get this thing started sometime, right? What better time than the present? 

It wasn’t a good time for this, and he knew it. He was nowhere near confident, nowhere near focused enough to go out there into something as foreign as this job without a plan of some description in place. This was an awful idea. A stupid, crazy, disastrous idea which would probably end with him fucking the whole thing up altogether.

**Do you want to go out for a drink?**

Jack was surprised when he received a reply not 5 minutes later.

_Sure? What’s the occasion?_

The Irishman looked at Mark’s text for a few seconds before ignoring it altogether, deciding he’d probably make up something plausible on the way there. And anyway the underlining ‘Why are you asking _me_?’ in the message did nothing but make him feel worse. God he was a bad person.

**Can you do now?**

_Yes._

For some reason Jack found a bitter laugh escape his lips at that. Perks of being a trillionaire, he supposed, free time whenever you pleased.

**Anywhere do you want to go?**

Jack really couldn’t care less. The only reason he asked was because the only places in the city he really knew narrowed down to Starbucks and that tiny pizza place three blocks down from his apartment. Somehow he doubted that was how a man such as Mark Fischbach was used to dining.

_Well actually…_

Jack couldn’t help but snort softly at Mark’s choice, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch

**You’re an idiot. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.**

_I’m counting on it ;)_

***

“So, you come here often?” Mark asked casually, carefully balancing the two drinks in his hands, doing his best not to spill either one. Jack spotted an empty table, quickly sliding into one of the seats and taking his drink from the other man with a shrug.

“Not really. Once or twice every couple of months.” He replied, shooting a quick glance around the dimly lit bar. It was quite the traditional little pub, far from what he’d expected from Mark. Some soft music played in the background, adding to the homely atmosphere of the place, the subtle smell of alcohol and the odd whiff of cigarette smoke wafting up his nose every now and then, but the place seemed reasonably clean.

It was known as Molloy’s, the only American-Irish pub Jack had dared to enter since he’d arrived overseas. Even then, it was just out of pure curiosity and nothing more. The only time he really came here was when he felt stupidly homesick and felt like eating something other than whatever trash his microwave could come up with.

But he wasn’t going to tell Mark that.

The man himself raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? That’s cool. I thought I’d choose somewhere you might…I don’t know. Feel comfortable in, I guess?” He flushed and looked down at his lap, embarrassed. “Stupid, I know but…”

Jack shook his head good-naturedly, trying to loosen himself up, express a bit more emotion than he normally did. It was harder than he thought was probably healthy. “I don’t mind. It’s a nice place. How do you know it?" 

The other man looked up with a grin. “The shepherd’s pie here is to _die for_. Seriously if you’ve never had it, you’ve haven’t lived.”

The Irishman offered him a small smile. “Well, I guess I’d better start living, huh?” He reached forward and took a sip of his beer. Thankfully Mark didn’t do what his old co-workers used to do and order a Guinness before Jack could even open his mouth. He hated the stuff. Give him a cup of coffee over a pint of Guinness anyday.

Mark signalled for the lady behind the bar and in a few seconds she was at their table with a little notepad and a pen in her hands. She was maybe in her late fifty’s with flushed cheeks and a round stomach, dressed in a well-worn green sweater and black trousers. To Jack’s surprise Mark chatted cheerily to the woman for a few minutes like they were old friends catching up with each other. Hell, for all he knew maybe they were.

“And Carol this is Jack, Jack this is Caroline.” Mark introduced with a big smile plastered on his dumb handsome face.

Caroline smiled kindly at him, offering him a hand to shake. “Hello dear, nice to meet you.” She had a strong American accent, possibly southern if Jack’s limited knowledge of American accents served him well. Which it probably didn’t.

Jack gave a tentative smile back, and accepted the hand. “Uh, same to you.”

She didn’t comment on his accent but Jack noticed the way her face brightened a little with recognition before she took their orders and strode away, a smile on her round face. Mark looked like a content fucking puppy, his dark hair slightly tousled and his body comfortably relaxed. He seemed at home here. 

“She seems…nice.” Jack said softly after a short pause.

Mark shrugged, a stupid smile still playing on his features, his dark eyes fixed happily on Jack. “Yeah, Carol owns this place; I think you might’ve just made her day, her husband was Irish too. Maybe she’ll keep you around.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I think the only reason she puts up with me is ‘cause I’ll eat anything she puts in front of me. According to her it’s a gift.”

Jack found himself smiling back at the other man, relaxing into his seat a little as the sweet calm air of the pub seemed to seep into his very bones, leaching out the stress and distraction that had been there all day. A satisfied little smile played on his lips. This was fucking _heaven_.   

The blissful silence stretched on and Jack was surprised to find it nowhere near as awkward and forced as he expected it to be. Mark wasn’t the worst company, he supposed.

Well, until he opened his big mouth.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Mark asked just as Caroline appeared with two amazing looking shepherd’s pies cradled in her hands along with some cutlery for each and a napkin for each of them.

Jack didn’t answer for a second, his entire body tensing once more until he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I- uh I know who you are.” He muttered quickly, taking a large bite of his food so he didn’t have to look Mark in the face, sure enough it was as amazing as promised. God, it’d been a while since he’d bothered to crawl out of his apartment for some decent food. He should do this more often.

To his surprise Mark laughed, also tucking into his food with relish. “Finally, you mean. I couldn’t believe you didn’t recognise me the second you saw me that first time we met. I thought that maybe by some miracle you’d never even heard of me.” He talked with food still in his mouth but Jack couldn’t find it in himself to be repulsed right now. He was intrigued.

“Would you ever have told me? If I didn’t figure it out, I mean.” He asked, curiously.

Mark snorted with a small shake of his head, swallowing his mouthful before speaking. “God no. People always, I don’t know, _look_ at me different when they know, you know? It always feels like they’re watching me, like I’ll just snap at any second.” He shook his head slightly, seeming to remember himself a little when his eyes met Jack’s. He looked, sad. “Like I’m Freddie Krueger Jr. or something.”

When Mark’s gaze flicked back down to his food Jack felt compelled to fill the awkward silence that followed. He was amazed at the admission, shocked that Mark would dare to reveal something such…well it was hardly personal information, but in this place with this lighting it all felt so strangely intimate. Jack wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

In fact now he just felt like an asshole at the thought that tomorrow he’d have to write this very conversation up like a fucking essay for his boss to scrutinize for whatever reason.

“Do I do that?” He found himself blurting out suddenly, genuinely curious. “Look at you like a serial killer waiting to happen I mean?”

Mark looked up, his eyes flickering up to his face and staying there for a few seconds, searching for something. “No, I guess you don’t.” He murmured thoughtfully looked away again, shovelling a few forkfuls of pie in his mouth and swallowing before speaking again. “You always looked at me that way.” There was amusement in his voice, a playful grin playing at his lips and Jack found himself smiling back unconsciously.

It had been so long since he’d felt so relaxed, so comfortable in the company of another person without acting like someone rammed a stick up his ass and ruining the evening for everyone with his stupid mouth. He’d forgotten how good this felt.

“Look, we kinda got off on the wrong foot the other night. I’m- I’m sorry about what happened, about what I said, I didn’t mean any of it.” Mark said softly when the laughter slowly dried up, following the words up with another forkful of food like he didn't want to meet Jack's eyes.

In the back of his mind Jack found the more cynical part of his mind flare up at the apology. Something was wrong with it, a glint in the other man's eyes that felt far from genuine, but Jack didn’t call Mark out on it. What was the point really? If he wanted this to work he needed to be on speaking terms with this man and he couldn’t manage that if he kept arguing with the man. Plus, Mark hadn't pushed him about his sudden change in attitude towards the other man so he reasoned that it was only fair he let it pass. 

Still, he wasn’t in a particularly forgiving mood and simply nodded his acknowledgement, pushing his pie around on his plate with his appetite gone. Instead he reached for his beer, taking a long sip and avoiding Mark’s eyes.

The Irishman was about five awkward seconds away from asking for the check when Mark spoke again, his brown eyes solemn. “Jack, I’ve gone about this whole thing completely wrong and I’m so sorry about that, but please, give me a chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Jack sighed softly, meeting Mark’s gaze steadily. These words rang true, no hint of a lie in them. He wasn’t sure what Mark was asking from him. What did he want? Friendship? Romance? Sex? Jack had no way of knowing and he couldn’t bring himself to force the question out of his mouth, the words catching in the back of his throat. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance, alright? Just one. Try not to blow it.”

Mark’s face split into a wide smile, joy dancing in his eyes and lighting up his features like magic. God did he look good when he smiled; Jack was so fucking screwed. He watched as the American waved a cheery hand at Caroline who had disappeared behind the bar again while they spoke. “Carol! Carol! Can we have the check please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Lol I wonder how many people forgot this was even a thing? Haha, anywhere there's some kinda fluff because I felt like writing something nice and not angsty and anyway I really don't want to do my homework so I did this instead. I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Bye!


	10. Chapter 10

Jack was not what you’d call a ‘morning person’.

In fact if his job and his doctor didn’t declare otherwise he’d happily sleep right into the middle of the day and eat breakfast for dinner like he used to when he went to college. Instead he was forced to drag himself out of bed at unholy hours of the morning and shuffle around his apartment like a damn zombie until he worked up the energy to pour himself some coffee.

It was one of the definite downsides to working under Georgia Fischbach, her and her stupidly strict policies on tardiness that made him feel like quitting altogether for just a nice lie on once in a while. It was like being back at school again and he hated it, no _loathed_ it, with a bright and burning passion. He hated his alarm clock, he hated the piercingly bright early morning sun and he generally despised just about anything that dared cross his path before the clock struck 8AM.

If Mark thought he was grumpy during the day, by God he should see him at 7AM.

Anyway, this is why Jack was so surprised to find himself wake up _before_ his alarm the day after his meeting with Mark, the normal weight of exhaustion gone from his shoulders leaving him feeling oddly light and airy, practically floating around his kitchen as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. His good mood stayed with him all through his shower and his light jog around the block, his high spirits only dampening a little when he opened his laptop to begin his report on last night.

After about 10 minutes spent just staring guiltily at the screen he closed the laptop altogether and went off to do something more productive, like watch half a season of some new crime drama on Netflix while steadily eating his way through the half the contents of his fridge.

All things considered, it was turning out to be quite a good day, and Jack was feeling incredibly relaxed, full and sleepy by around the sixth episode, his early mornings and late nights slowly catching up with him and making his eyelids heavy.

Of course it didn’t last. Just as Jack was starting to drift off, convincing himself it’d definitely be worth the neck pain later, there came a loud knock at his door, startling him so much he nearly fell off the couch altogether, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest.

The Irishman eventually made it to the door and opened it with an indignant sound, not particularly caring that his clothes were crumpled and covered in crumbs and his hair was probably a complete bird’s nest by this point.

You wake him up; you get to see him walk around like a hobo for the next half hour or so until he bothered to change. It was like a rule.

Standing on the landing outside his door was none other than Aiden McLoughlin, looking pretty much exactly how Jack remembered him, if with slightly longer facial hair. His skin was a little more tanned than Jack’s and he was far stronger, his jersey obviously straining against his biceps as he held onto the duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He had his dark hair in the same gelled up hairstyle he’d favoured since he was 10 and there was still that dark glint of intent in his brown eyes that he’d had for as long as Jack could remember.

Aiden offered him a cheerful, if a little tired, smile. “Hey Jack, long time no see.”

Jack leaned against his doorframe, looking his cousin up and down with a hint of confusion on his face. He didn’t even have the energy to bother worrying about how he looked. “What are you doing here?” He grunted.

Aiden frowned. “I thought your Ma told you I was coming?” His voice was considerably lower than Jack’s but they had the same familiar accent. Jack had missed hearing it.

Jack snorted, admittedly rather rudely. “Yeah she did but you’re not supposed to come until Friday.” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, debating whether or not it’d be worth facing the wrath of his mother to just close the door and ignore the man until he went away.

Aiden narrowed his eyes, a hint of concern there. “It _is_ Friday.”

Oh. Well shit.

With that, Jack decided it was best to pretend Aiden hadn’t said anything and instead just stepped to the side, allowing the other man into his house and shutting the door firmly behind him. Aiden dropped his bag on the kitchen floor and glanced around the place, probably checking that Jack was capable of living on his own under the orders of Jack’s mother.

“So what are you doing in New York then?” Jack eventually asked when the silence, tense and awkward as it was, became too much for him to handle.

In response Aiden shrugged, fiddling absentmindedly with the cupboard handles behind him. “I’ve got some work to do for a friend, hopefully shouldn’t take long. You mind if I stay here ‘till I’m done? It’s just hotel rooms cost an arm and a leg in this fucking city.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, taken off guard by the fact Aiden actually bothered to _ask_. Even when they were kids Aiden had never really asked for things, his pride wouldn’t allow it, so normally he’d just take whatever he wanted, whether it was a toy or sweets or, in this case, accommodation. It wasn’t what Jack had expected from him but, then again, it had been about 3 or 4 years since they last spoke properly, what with Jack going to college and then later New York while Aiden took a trip around Europe.

Maybe things had changed.

Aiden certainly seemed friendlier now than he had the last time they spoke. It was…nice, if a little strange.

“What’s wrong with your friend that they can’t give you a place?” Jack pushed a little further.

Aiden shrugged but his expression was guarded. “I was staying with her for the past few days but then, y’know, some stuff happened and now I’m in need of a well-earned McLoughlin family favour.”

“Fine.” Jack answered shortly after a beat, deciding not to dig any further into it and reached towards the kettle just for something to do. “Coffee?”

Aiden nodded, pushing off the counter he’d been leaning on and casually looking around the apartment a little more while Jack set the kettle to boil and pulled out two cups. He was pretty certain the place was at least decently clean, he wasn’t the kind of person who liked clutter, in fact if anything he was what you’d call a bit of a control freak when it came to his home. 

Even if he wasn’t, he suspected Aiden wouldn’t particularly care. For God’s sake the majority of the man’s wardrobe consisted of loose-fitting track bottoms, old Celtic football jerseys and worn out t-shirts. The nicest clothes Jack had ever seen him wear were the dress shirt and black slack which were exclusive to only funerals and weddings. The man was hardly what you’d call high maintenance.

When the coffee was finished Jack walked into his tiny excuse of a living room, a packet of biscuits in hand, trying to ignore how Aiden’s tall figure in his apartment only made the place feel even smaller. The man himself had picked up one of Jack’s books off the table in front of him and was staring at it with determination, his eyes narrowed into a squint.

When he heard Jack’s footsteps he quickly put the book down beside him, a faint flush of embarrassment entering his cheeks. “Sorry. Just been a while since I tried it, y’know?”    

Jack didn’t know.

This was another surprise, Aiden reading voluntarily. When they were younger Aiden had struggled with severe dyslexia all throughout his school life. The two had attended the same school and Jack knew better than most that learning how to read had caused the other man nothing but frustration and anger, a constant uphill battle, and Jack could recall several instances he’d sat and watched on as the other boy launched a book to the other side of the room in a fit of short tempered frustration.

It did get better of course; after a lot of practice and help, Aiden’s reading and writing became exceptional and he’s passed enough of his exams at the end of secondary school to leave him with a decent range of job options. Even so, Jack couldn’t remember the man voluntarily picking up a novel once in his entire life. He’d always said the writing was too small and close together and it gave him a headache.

Why was he so different to how Jack remembered? Not that it was a bad change; honestly the fact that Aiden was making any kind of effort to do _anything_ was a vast improvement from what Jack remembered. And sure a lot could change in a few years but God, this was just so…unexpected.

However Jack made sure that none of his thoughts showed on his face, trying to keep as neutral an expression as he could manage as he set down the two steaming mugs and biscuits on the little wooden coffee table and plonked himself down next to his cousin on the couch, snatching up the remote.

“It’s fine. Have you seen this show yet?” Jack asked casually, gesturing towards where he’d paused his Netflix show to answer the door. It wasn’t all that good but anything was better than sitting through what could possibly be hours of slightly awkward small talk. Plus, Aiden could be here for days, no need to dry up all the easy conversation topics on the first day.

Aiden silently shook his head, looking thoughtful.

“Well, do you want to?” Jack asked, trying out that wedeling, persuasive tone his mother was so good at.

Apparently he didn’t inherit the talent because Aiden didn’t answer or so much as look at Jack, in favour of just grabbing the remote straight out of Jack’s loose grip and switching the TV over to some channel Jack wasn’t familiar with that covered an American football match between two teams he didn’t recognise.

Jack opened his mouth to protest but then shut it again with a soft click when no sound came out. He settled for a low, annoyed sigh, sinking back into the couch, a tiny grin fighting its way onto his face without his permission.

Some things never changed, he supposed.

***

“Um, are you going to get that?” Aiden asked, his toothbrush in hand, already covered in toothpaste. His dark hair was damp from the shower and empty of gel. It made him look younger somehow.

Jack glared at his phone for a second longer before finally answering the call. It was Mark. The third time he’d called in the past 15 minutes.

“Jesus Christ, finally! How does it take you so long to pick up?” Mark half yelled through the phone, startling Jack for a second.

“I- Shut up, what’s the emergency?” Jack grumbled, ignoring the question because he really didn’t want to explain that he’d been standing there like an idiot staring at his phone and having a mental debate over whether or not he should answer. Honestly, if Aiden hadn’t said anything he’d probably have allowed the call to lapse to the answer machine all over again.

God it had been literally one night and he already missed living alone. At least then there was no one around to judge him.     

There was the sound of wind rushing through the speaker, muffling whatever Mark was saying, but that didn’t stop it picking up the distant echo of New York morning traffic. Wherever he is, it must be outside.

“What?! I can’t hear you.” Jack said, raising his voice a little more in an attempt to be heard, making Aiden pause in brushing his teeth once more to shoot him an imploring eyebrow.

Mark seemed to get the gist; the rush of wind and the distant rumble of traffic disappeared altogether as he probably walked into a building of some kind, the sounds replaced with the low hum of conversation.

“I _said_ do you want to meet up for breakfast? My treat.” Mark finally explained, no longer yelling at the top of his lungs which was a relief.

Jack bit his lip, guilt tying a tight knot in his stomach. He’d sent in his first report of his day out with Mark to Georgia’s personal email last night and to absolutely no one’s surprise the shame of it had been eating away at him ever since. The money in his bank account was considerably larger, he’d made sure to check, but then, maybe it wasn’t worth it.

“I-I can’t, sorry.” He eventually stuttered out and then searched desperately for an excuse as to why, his eyes landing on Aiden’s confused, toothpaste covered face. “I have a guest staying with me; I need to make him something before he leaves. Sorry, Mark.”  

He winced softly at the disappointed sigh he heard echo down the line when suddenly the phone was snatched clean out of his grasp. “‘Allo? Is dis Mark? Yup…Noh it’s fine I’ll pick somefin’ up on tha way to work…Sure ‘e can go...‘Orry, I’ve got toofpase in ma mouf, one sec.” Aiden said, his voice thick, before turning to spit out his mouthful of toothpaste into the basin behind him and purposefully ignoring Jack’s flailing limbs as the shorter man tried desperately to get the phone back.

And then he was talking again, much clearer this time. “Sorry ‘bout that. Yeah, no I’m just in for a few days hopefully. Of course he can, sure you’re doing me a favour, I get to survive another day without suffering through his awful cooking.” There was a short pause and then Aiden was laughing. “Oh yeah, you’ve got that disaster to look forward to. Trust me, it’s like he doesn’t eve- Hey! You little shit!”

Jack had, like the mature adult he was, stamped down _hard_ on his cousin’s foot and grabbed the phone as soon as Aiden’s grip slackened; dancing out of reach before Aiden could retaliate and quickly sliding through the door to his bedroom, being sure to flip Aiden the middle finger before he closed the door behind him.

As soon as Jack was sure he was alone, his face a little hot from embarrassment, he placed the phone back to his ear. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. He’s an asshole.” He apologised softly, breathing a little harder than usual after all his flailing around, but was surprised to hear gentle laughter echo down the line.

"Its fine, he’s cool.” Mark replied happily, amusement still strong in his voice. “So you can go then?”

Jack rolled his eyes, admittedly with a fond and dopey smile on his face that he was _so_ glad Aiden couldn’t see. “Apparently I’m free. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about you tell me your address and I’ll meet you there?” Mark asked slowly, as though worried he was overstepping some kind of line between them, and Jack, although a little wary about giving out his address, felt himself start to cave under the hope in the other man’s voice.

“What time?” He asked weakly, trying to give himself some breathing space.

Jack heard Mark snort. “Oh you’re already too late, the coffee’s getting cold here. C’mon, if you hurry up this stuff’ll still be warm when you get to eat it. I swear.”

He caved, hung up and sent the address before spending a good ten minutes deciding what he should wear to his unexpected breakfast adventure before realising it probably didn’t matter much. It was just two friends meeting up for breakfast. Nothing more to it. Obviously.

After he’d fixed his hair for literally the _seventh time in a row_ he forced himself out of his bedroom and into the scrutiny of Aiden’s mischievous eyes.

“So _that’s_ the Mark I’ve been hearing your Ma blabber on about then? She’ll be glad to hear you two _are_ dating after all.” Aiden teased playfully. "Thanks to some gentle persuasion from yours truly, of course."

Jack rolled his eyes giving the other man a shove on the shoulder. “It’s not like that so don’t you dare tell her shit.”

Aiden snorted, shoving him right back. “Well how else do you expect her to find out anything about you? You hardly talk to _anyone_ from back home and when you do you say fuck all. It’s depressing.” He was getting ready for work, pulling on a thick jacket to protect himself from the cold weather.

Jack scowled at his words.

“Anyway, don’t let me distract you from your date, loverboy.” Aiden teased, messing up Jack’s hair like he was a little kid and shoving him bodily towards the door. “Have fun!”

Jack left, grumbling darkly and fixing his hair as he walked down the 3 flights of stairs to get to the outside.

Mark had better have brought him something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you from my truly amazing procrastination skills :) I hope you enjoyed this kinda early-ish chapter and thankyou so much for all the awesome feedback on this fic! I was in the mood for something kinda fluffy so this is what I ended up with xD
> 
> Until next time...BYEE!


	11. Chapter 11

“God, I hate the snow.” Jack grumbled darkly as he took another sip of his coffee, wrapping his bare hand tightly around the cup for warmth. He’d been an absolute idiot and worn the stupid piece of shit jacket that his Ma bought him last year. For _summer_. He was absolutely _freezing_.

Although, to be fair, at the time of choosing his outfit he’d been too busy fretting over Mark to think about the weather forecast.      

Too late now, he thought grumpily, shivering.

Beside him, Mark rolled his eyes, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, c’mon, Jack. The weather? Of all things _that’s_ what you’re starting this off with?” He asked with amusement, handing Jack a brown paper bag, heavy with food.

They were casually walking down the sidewalk not far from Jack’s apartment building, edging the boundaries of some memorial park Jack couldn’t remember the name of. A light dusting of snow fell around them as the energetic thrum of New York City life continued to fly past in the background, the morning sun _just_ peeking out over the tall buildings.

Jack glared at him, but from his expression Mark obviously didn’t take it seriously. “You got a problem with that?” He asked, trying to keep his tone teasing. It was difficult to keep reminding himself to appear relaxed when his body was thrumming with tension, terrified that Mark could see on his face that he would be writing all this down later. That this wasn’t really him, a stupid act put on for money.

There was a special place reserved in hell for people like him, Jack was sure of it.

Fortunately the American simply shrugged, taking a sip out of his own coffee. “I’d have thought you were a bit more interesting than that.”

“Hey, if you’ve got something better, please feel free to share it with the class.” The Irishman shrugged, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “Because in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not here to keep you entertained. I’m here for _breakfast_.” To emphasis his point Jack held up the paper bag in his left hand and gave it a little shake.

Mark snorted. “Oh, so you’re just using me for free food then. Is that how it is?” He asked with amusement, leading the younger man over to where there was a small bench, sheltered from the snow by a tall wooden structure obviously built for the job.

Immediately Jack plonked himself down on the sturdy looking bench and shoved his hand into the bag with a smirk. “Obviously.” After a few seconds he came up with one steaming bagel, spilling over with crispy bacon strips and oozing melted cheese.

Jesus Christ it smelled _amazing_.

Mark grinned at the wide eyed look Jack sent his way, grabbing the bag from his hand to take out his own bagel as he sat down beside the Irishman. “What? They’re my favourite. I thought you’d like something hot when the day was turning out so cold. Didn’t know if you had work or not so…it was kinda a split-second decision, y’know.”

At that, Jack nodded in acknowledgement before taking quite a large bite out of his breakfast, mostly to stop himself from staring slack-jawed at Mark’s adorably flushed cheeks. Jesus that was actually _thoughtful_ of him and Jack wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. The fact that Mark bought him breakfast at all was astonishing.

And kind of charming, he had to admit.

The American snorted softly as he watched Jack chew his way through his mouthful, his own bagel left untouched on his lap and Jack froze as a thought occurred to him, swallowing painfully before giving Mark a knowing look.

“It’s poisoned, isn’t it? You’ve brought me out here to kill me.” He gasped in faux horror, surprised at how easy the casual banter came to him around Mark. Jack found it weirdly nice to have…well not a friend exactly but, someone to talk to that wasn’t from work or at home. Someone new. “I should’ve known!”

Mark chuckled giving him a gentle nudge with his elbow as he picked up his own bagel. “Shut up and eat it or I’ll eat it for you.” Jack let out a quiet sound of protest at the threat, taking another bite. Honestly the food was fucking delicious; even if it was poisoned, he’d die a happy man.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, only broken by the dull sound of traffic whizzing past and the occasional noise of approval from either man as they ate. Every so often Mark would pause in his eating to make a comment on something stupid and irrelevant (“Look! Puppy in a purse.”), that lead into a conversation that rarely failed to make Jack laugh like an idiot.

When he was finished his food and his coffee was long gone, Jack wiped his hands on his jeans with a slight shiver, his fingers turning pale pink and stiff from the cold but his stomach was comfortably full. “God it’s been ages since I had a breakfast like that.” He admitted truthfully, meeting eyes with Mark to give him a small, but grateful, smile. “Thanks for this. It was great.”

He was surprised to find he meant it.

Mark smiled back at him confidently. “No problem, maybe we can do it again sometime and-” He cut himself off, frowning a little, his expression unreadable as he studied Jack for a second before he shrugged off his coat (a thick, black one that Jack had been eyeing enviously for the past few minutes) before draping it securely over Jack’s shoulders.

“Really? I mean thank you but…really?” Jack spluttered, tugging the fabric tighter around himself despite his words and subtly basking in the sudden surge of warm on his icy skin. It smelt of Mark’s mild aftershave, cigarette smoke and something considerably sharper, obviously liquor. Jack decided he wouldn’t ask. “My apartment’s right down the street you know, you really don’t need to.”

The American seemed completely unaffected by the cold and simply shoved his hands casually into his jean pockets as they both stood, strolling down the way they just came. He waved off Jack’s protests with a grin. “Shut up, I’m being a gentleman here, of course I need to.”

“Oh my god.” Jack let out an incredulous gasp while biting back a grin. “Mark Fischbach, a _romantic_?”

Mark raised an inquiring eyebrow, but his cheeks were flushed. “Is that such a shock?”

“I’ll bet they’re building snowmen in hell as we speak.” Jack teased with a grin.

“Hardy har, you’re fucking hilarious McLoughlin.”

***

By the time he reached his apartment and opened the door Jack was practically buzzing with happiness after his _not_ -date; only half surprised to see Aiden perched near the window, staring out to the city outside.

Jack had only been gone an hour or so but Aiden hardly seemed the type to have a job that required concentration for long periods of time. His cousin was playing with a packet of cigarettes, turning it over and over in his hands like he wanted nothing more than to pull one out and light it. Frankly Jack was surprised he hadn’t already.

“So how was your date?” Aiden asked, not bothering to even pretend to sound interested.

Jack shrugged off Mark’s jacket and threw it on the back of a chair. “Alright.” He replied shortly, walking into the kitchen to where he thought he might’ve left his phone after noticing his pocket empty a few minutes earlier. “How was work?”

“Fine.” Aiden shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his packet and looking at it for a long moment before he stood with a huff. “I’m going out for a smoke.”

Jack cursed low before stepping out of the kitchen to catch him. “Wait, have you seen my phone? I can’t find it.”

Aiden shook his head, tugging on a sports jacket against the cold before opening the door and almost walked directly into the tall, uniformed man standing ominously in the doorway. “Jesus fucking chri-” Aiden blurted out in shock before it seemed to register in his brain that he was in fact cursing at a police officer and thought better of it. “I mean uh…Sorry, didn’t see you there.” 

The policeman looked unimpressed. “Is there a Sean McLoughlin here?” He rumbled out, his voice a deep baritone with a strong New Yorker accent.

“That’s me.” Jack replied, stepping into the policeman’s view, confused and a little wary. “Why?”

The policeman shoved a hand in his breast pocket and unfolded a dog-eared photo, holding it out for Jack to take. Jack did so, feeling his blood run cold.

“See, we’re trying to find this young lady and her brother. From what we can tell it seems that you could be one of the last people to see her before she disappeared.” The policeman sighed quietly, and at this distance Jack could see the exhaustion etched on his face. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

Jack nodded grimly and the officer stepped into the apartment; both of them pretending not to notice how Aiden silently slipped out the door and half sprinted down the stairs as soon as the coast was clear.

***

Jack made the officer a cup of tea before they got down to talking, hoping that perhaps some decent manners might earn him a few brownie points before he had to explain how he last saw this girl slumped on the pavement, crying her eyes out and how he’d run away like a coward.

The policeman himself was in his late fifties, early sixties, with black speckled grey hair and the lean build of a sprinter. His entire demeanour was that of a man counting down the days until he could retire with a decent pension, his eyes tired and his features soft. Still, he had that hard exterior that came with all the cops in New York; the look of a man who’d seen his fair share of shit.

Over the mugs of steaming tea Jack discovered the blonde girl’s name was Hailey Burns, a college student whose mother was currently on the warpath after she received multiple hysterical voicemails from her daughter about her son, Ryan, going missing. So apparently whatever trail Hailey left behind her had lead the police to Jack’s door even though Jack didn’t have much to add to what they already knew.

He told the officer what happened. All of it. Well, that’s a lie. But he did tell the man most of it, and by the end of it he seemed satisfied with Jack’s story, thanked him for his time and apologised for disrupting his afternoon.

That left Jack well and truly alone, with no phone to text Mark and no company since Aiden was showing no signs of returning anytime soon. It was the first time in the past couple of days Jack had been completely alone in his own apartment and now it just felt weirdly…empty. He couldn’t remember it ever feeling that way before.

Maybe he should get a dog or something when Aiden leaves.

In order to distract himself, Jack holed himself up in his bedroom with his computer; not daring to put earphones in due to New York’s slightly shady reputation, but happy enough to do a little work in silence before he had to microwave their lunch.

Jack thought about starting a report for Georgia about his morning; reducing it all down into an emotionless recount of two strangers like a true little spy or whatever he was. The thought made him a little queasy so instead he found himself staring blankly at the Google Search homepage for a while.

Eventually his curiosity got the better of him and he ended up typing ‘Mark Fischbach’ into the search bar. Immediately several articles popped up with click bait-y titles, each presenting a different prospective on Mark’s drinking habits after his father died of cancer 2 years ago. Some were bashing him, some were questioning him and some were genuinely worried about him, but all of them were a good year and a half old; there was very little recent information about Mark Fischbach.

A few paparazzi shots taken from afar from January, two short acknowledgements for contribution to an underfunded cancer research charity in July and 1 blog post. Not very interesting. However, something Jack found far more interesting was another name recommended to him on Mark’s Wikipedia page (the dude had a fucking Wikipedia page what the actual hell), a name Jack vaguely remembered Mark mentioning a while back.

Olivia Crawford, a Scottish girl who moved to America when she was 13, now 20 and known (according to _her_ Wikipedia page) as a small-time business woman and shot into the public eye at 19 as the wonderful on-again-off-again-on-again girlfriend to one Mark Fischbach.

Jack felt his heart sink down to his shoes as he took in the absolutely gorgeous woman in the picture above the name, glossy chocolate brown hair curling down to her shoulders, a blinding white smile and piercing blue eyes.

Jack hated everything about her.     

True the page was last updated last year so maybe things had changed since then, but Jack couldn’t help but torture himself when he found a picture of them both together, smiling at the camera. Mark was dressed in a stylish, clean cut suit and Olivia was wearing an expensive looking designer dress that hugged her curvy frame, diamonds glinting around her neck and at her ears.

They were a power couple, rich and beautiful and everything Jack wished he could have, but couldn’t.

It was well past 7 before Aiden walked through the door looking worse for wear and smelling of beer. Jack had already finished his second report and sent it off with as little emotion as possible, his happy grin from earlier replaced with an overcast glower and an empty feeling in his chest that he didn’t want to look to far into.

If Aiden noticed Jack’s change in mood he didn’t comment on it. He just scooped up the food Jack had left out for him and ate it without question.

That night Jack threw himself into his work, trying to convince himself this new knowledge didn’t affect him at all. He wasn’t jealous, what was there to be jealous about? The whole thing could be in the past. And it wasn’t like he cared anyway. It was just Mark Fischbach your typical rich celebrity jerk and Jack couldn’t care less.

The sad thing was maybe he would've believed it all too, if he weren't such a terrible liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Here's a stupidly long chapter because I started writing and I couldn't stop. I hope you guys don't mind all that cheese :)  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Until next time...BYEEE!


	12. Chapter 12

It was entirely possible to look just as shit as you felt, Jack discovered, as he looked into the mirror the next day, taking in his sickly pale, slightly oily skin and the purple circles under his eyes. He’d barely slept last night and he felt clammy and generally gross all over.

How ironic that the one day he really needed the soothing distraction of his work was the first day in a very long time that he _actually got sick_.

Jack broke eye contact with his reflection to cough hoarsely several times into his fist, his throat dry as sandpaper, before bending down to splash some water on his face, wondering idly whether or not Aiden had gone to work yet.

A glance outside of the bathroom revealed said man was leaning casually against the kitchen counter eating slowly from a bowl of cereal; the spoon scraping against the pottery the only sound as Jack shuffled his way into the room, his entire body aching.

Aiden glanced up at him and immediately raised an eyebrow. “The fuck happened to you?” He asked, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth, eyebrows brought together with something dangerously close to concern. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Jack didn’t answer, instead reaching into the fridge and pouring himself a glass of orange juice, knowing full well coffee would only make him feel worse. After a few soothing sips he decided food wasn’t an option and turned to leave, drink in hand, before Aiden’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, you never said. What did that cop want with you last night?” He asked curiously, setting his spoon down with a clink and rubbing his hands together with interest. “You part of a drug gang or what?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Jack found himself answering without thinking about it before shrugging half-heartedly. “Some girl I met went missing, that’s all.” He took another step towards his bedroom before Aiden spoke again, forcing him to turn.

“Were you two close or something?” There was a pause as Aiden squinted at his cousin, taking in his feeble appearance. “Is that what’s got you looking so…” He trailed off, pulling a face. Luckily for Jack, Aiden was apparently smart enough not to add insult to injury by finishing off that particular sentence.       

Jack shook his head, unwilling to reveal that a main contributor to his shitty mood was how he’d been hit depressingly hard by the news that a guy he knew he stood no real chance with in the first place was now even further out of his league than ever.

And hell, having an emotionally shit day over a physically shit day was just the kind of crap he didn’t need to deal with in what was turning out to be an extraordinarily stressful week anyway. Honestly, fuck his life. “No, just, forget about it, alright?” He snapped, a shade harsher than he intended, turning to escape the conversation altogether.

“Oh yeah, I found your phone by the way.” Aiden called cheerfully after him, apparently unaffected by his cousin’s sharp tone. Sure enough when Jack turned it was to see his phone in Aiden’s lose grip and a smug smirk on the douchebag’s face.

“I swear your boyfriend hasn’t stopped calling all day. He’s a bit clingy if you ask me.” Aiden commented as he tossed the phone to his cousin, snorting in amusement as Jack almost dropped it. “By the way, I hope your friend turns up alive.” He added, sounding sort of genuine despite his arrogant demeanour.

Jack didn’t answer, shooting his cousin a dark glare and pocketing his phone before taking the final few stiff steps towards his bedroom and slamming the door behind him like the huffy, angry teenager he should have grown out of years ago.

***

Ten minutes later Jack was in the shower, his phone lying on his bed packed full of about 10 missed calls and 4 unopened messages from Mark that Jack didn’t have the heart to answer.

He still felt wonderfully shit, his entire body feverishly hot to the touch but at the same time shivering with an unexplained chill that no amount of blankets could get rid of. Cold and flu remedies seemed to have little to no affect whatsoever so Jack had given up altogether and just shuffled his way into the shower in hopes that the hot water would at least take the edge off.  

A shower had been a fucking terrible idea.

Now everything felt far too hot and damp to boot and Jack wondered if it were possible to spontaneously combust whilst under a spray of water as he washed himself in record time. Shivering uncomfortably he stepped out into the cooler, if slightly clammier air of the bathroom; his skin feeling horribly enflamed and over sensitive as he dried himself and tugged his clothes back on.

After wiping away the condensation on the mirror Jack was greeted by his own flushed, but very clean, face and stopped for a moment, staring.

He looked the same as he always did, if a little rougher around the edges than usual, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about. Jack was thinking about Hailey Burns’ tearstained face marred with anger, her small frame curled up on the pavement dwarfed by the huge buildings soaring up around her.

 _“I hope your friend turns up alive.”_ Aiden had said. But then, what if she doesn’t.

She could be dead, Jack realised suddenly, a cold weight settling itself in his stomach. They may never find her because there’s nothing left to find but a corpse.

There was a terrible sense of finality in that thought and Jack closed his eyes, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Suddenly his ridiculous moping over Mark felt so petty and pointless. Who fucking cared about any of it when a girl could be dead in the streets because of something _he_ did. It was _his_ fault.

How disgusting that he was more devastated over the news Mark was straight than the news that a girl had gone missing. A girl could be dead.

Jack didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to deal with it. He leaned heavily against the sink, his legs feeling too weak to support his body weight. Thoughts hurtled through his brain at 100 miles a minute and he couldn’t seem to stop them as they whizzed past, dizzying and terrifying. Eventually Jack found himself slumped onto the wet floor trying desperately to get his bearings, the cool water seeping through his trousers to his burning skin and his back resting at an odd angle against the sink.

He nearly had a full on fucking heart attack when there was suddenly two hard thumps shaking the bathroom door. “Hey, Jack? You okay?” Aiden shouted, banging the door a few more times. “You’ve been in there for ages and I need to piss, open up.”

It took a while for Jack to answer, like he’d forgotten how. “Sorry.” He croaked, already pulling himself up onto his feet at the sound of his cousin’s voice, steadying himself on the sink when a rush of light-headedness nearly made him fall back down. Eventually he made it to the door and opened it. “Sorry, I was just-”

“Jesus Christ. You look like you’re about to keel over, you idiot.” Aiden exclaimed, as he immediately roughly pulled his cousin over to the couch and pushed him down into it, earning himself a surprised grunt. “Sit there and I’ll get you some water or something. Don’t move.”

Jack did as he was told, doing his best to clear his head for about two minutes before he had to get up and do something with himself for his own sanity. He changed out of his wet clothes, ate some cereal even though it was about 3 in the afternoon, kept it down as best he could and then cleaned his room and the kitchen and the bathroom until Aiden physically forced him to stop and shoved him back onto the couch, grumbling about how all Jack’s moving around was making him nervous.

But then Jack ran out of things to do.

He sat and stared at the Tv positively loathing every second he spent not doing anything even though there was nothing he _could_ do. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted the distraction, the comforting, mindless rhythm of working at something until it was finished. No matter how sick he felt or how much his body ached. He couldn’t care less. He _needed_ that feeling.

Then of course an hour or so later Aiden had to leave for work and Jack was left alone with his thoughts, which was just _fantastic_.

Not 10 minutes later though, surprisingly there came a soft knock at the door and Jack quickly stood to answer it, hoping Aiden had returned to keep his cousin company for a while. Unfortunately when the door swung open it was not Aiden but Mark on the landing, an oddly guilty look on his face and a plastic bag hanging from one hand.

To Jack’s surprise the other man seemed to deflate with relief when their eyes met, a small, hesitant smile spreading across his face. Jack stared blankly at him, the mishmash of emotions running through him at the sight of Mark’s face rendering him a little speechless. “What are you-?” He began, immediately bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as another bout of coughing cut him off. “Fuck.” He swore quietly.

Mark looked sheepish, answering only when Jack had finished. “You weren’t answering my calls so I thought- uh I just wanted to see if you were okay.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “And- um, now I guess I’ve done that so... I- uh I’m sorry for bothering you, I’ll be going now.”

He barely made it a step away before Jack caught him by the wrist, holding him back with a loose grip. “Do you… Do you wanna come in? If you’re not busy, I mean.” Jack found himself asking, almost without thinking, letting go of Mark’s wrist as though the touch burned.

The American looked torn for a second between uncertainty and relief before he nodded slowly, a small grin growing on his face. “Sure.”

Jack released a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Don’t be too excited, I’m only exposing you to whatever disease I’ve caught. Once you enter the quarantine zone there’s no coming back.”

“I think I’ll take my chances.” Mark chirped happily and all but skipped his way inside the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I had great fun writing this and I'm glad that so many people seem to like it so far :)  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> Until next time...BYEE!!! 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets play a game: who forgot this story existed? :P

“You’re a good, good man.” Jack murmured quietly as he watched Mark unwrap his plastic bag to reveal enough Chinese food to feed a family of four and what appeared to be an action blockbuster film so recent Jack hadn’t even seen the teaser trailers yet. Impressive.

Mark shot him a grin as he hopped around the small kitchen looking for plates. “I like to think so.” He replied happily as he emptied out portions of the various containers and presented Jack with a heaped plate that made his weak stomach shudder in fear. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I kinda just got a range of stuff and hoped for the best. If you don’t like any of it just ignore it.”

Jack met the American’s hopeful expression with resignation. He couldn’t say no to that face, taking the plate without a word of protest. “Thanks.” The Irishman muttered softly instead, grabbing himself a fork and taking a mouthful of rice, ignoring the feeling of Mark’s eyes on him. “What would you’ve done with all this stuff if I let you leave?” Jack asked as he took another mouthful, this time of chicken.

Mark shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze flickering down to his own dinner. “I don’t know, probably would’ve shared it Olivia or something. I’ve never really liked eating alone.”

Jack tried to ignore the way the delicious sweet-and-sour chicken in his mouth suddenly tasted like a chunk of cardboard at the mention of the girl’s name. “How’d you know which apartment was mine, anyway?” He asked quickly, changing topic with very little subtlety. “I don’t remember mentioning it.”

At that Mark flushed, his cheeks colouring a pretty pink. “I just hit a random button and asked the girl who picked up if she knew you or not.” 

Jack rolled his eyes a little. “I bet that went well.”

A cheeky smile tugged at the corner of Mark’s mouth. “Well I don’t know, she did tell me to fuck off; aggressively might I add, and then proceeded to give me your apartment number with the promise of a restraining order if she ever saw me again.” He shrugged, his smile growing. “I’d call it a win.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah I’d say you really worked your magic on that one.” The Irishman smiled, shovelling another mouthful of food into his mouth even though he couldn’t truly enjoy it anymore.

A few minutes later they moved from the kitchen to the couch to watch Mark’s movie and despite Jack’s initial embarrassment at the mess of the living room, Mark thankfully didn’t seem to notice. And you know, props to him for not commenting on Jack’s shitty little apartment or Jack’s awful appearance or his remarkably shitty little life. After all with Mark being a celebrity and everything Jack imagines it must’ve been hard not to comment. Jack appreciated that.   

Watching Tv on his own and watching Tv with Mark were two completely different concepts Jack discovered, the main difference being that currently every single one of his senses were on high alert, his body tense with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. Mark was apparently a cuddler, for want of a better word, judging by how he completely ignored the empty space on the couch when they sat, instead coming right up against Jack, trapping him between the arm rest and his body. Jack couldn’t believe the way he was reacting; his skin hot and his face flushed in a way he knew had nothing to do with sickness and his skin so hyperaware of everywhere they touched it was driving him _insane_.

It was completely irrational and generally ridiculous for a grown man’s heart to beat so fast at a simple brush of hands grabbing for the same remote or a glance that lasted just a beat too long.

Yet, Jack couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying himself.

The movie itself was a good one, full of adrenaline filled fight scenes and a just enough witty one liners to brighten the mood, but Jack couldn’t concentrate on any of it because holy shit he could feel Mark staring at him in the dim light, completely ignoring the movie, and he couldn’t stop shifting under the gaze, unsure what to make of it. Unsure what to make of any of this.

When he finally opened his mouth to say something about it Jack suddenly felt a warm weight settle across his shoulders as he was gently pulled back until he was practically lying on Mark’s chest altogether. Jack didn’t react to the movement only to look up to meet eyes with the American who simply shot him a reassuring grin, turning back to the movie without a word. 

His grip wasn’t tight, Jack could easily wriggle away if he wanted to, but then again, that was the problem, wasn’t it. He didn’t want to. 

Admittedly Jack knew it wouldn’t take much to convince himself that if he just didn’t think about it too much he could just enjoy it; give into the touch the way he so wanted to, but still, something held him back.

That something was the huge wad of guilt currently wreaking havoc in his stomach, twisting his insides into so many knots it felt like a physical ache deep in his body. He hated everything. Why the fuck did Mark have to try so hard? Why did he do this? What would he do when he realised what Jack was doing, this disgusting play of money and emotions that he regretted with everything he had.

Then again, when the hell had that happened? When had it all changed? When did he stop caring about the money? I mean, of course he was always guilty when the money exchanged hands, that had always been a given, but it had never stopped him before. It didn’t explain why he currently loathed every single decision that lead him into this stupid mess in the first place. It didn’t explain any of the idiocy currently throttling through his brain at 100 miles per hour.

Jack had a horrible feeling it had everything to do with Mark’s handsome smile, his ridiculous jokes, his subconscious kindness, the way Jack’s stomach did a weird little turn every time he so much as glanced at the man.  

Oh God, what was he doing? He was in way over his head.

All of a sudden Jack’s train of thought ground to a screeching halt as he realised Mark wasn’t watching the movie anymore. No, those dark eyes were fixed right on him, and when Jack looked into them his breath caught pathetically in the back of his throat.

He’d never seen Mark’s expression so soft and relaxed; his smile a lazy quirk of his lips and his eyes dark in the dim light. He looked good, really fucking good, and so goddamned happy too, high on it. Suddenly Jack became so _aware_ of _everything_. He noticed how Mark was slowly leaning down towards him, his grip gently tightening on Jack’s shoulders, pulling him in. He noticed how much he wanted to just let it happen. Good God he wanted it so fucking badly.

 _It couldn’t make things any worse, right? Just one little kiss wouldn’t change anything._ A little voice in the back of his mind piped up and it was such a dirty lying bastard, Jack knew it. Still, that knowledge didn’t make things easier though, his stomach twisting painfully at the thought.

Mark was so close, oh Jesus he had to do _something_ , and he had to decide what the fuck he was doing before it was decided for him. He wanted this, so fucking bad. And what was one more act of in-the-moment selfishness going to do in the grand scheme of things anyway?

The truth was; everything.

Jack’s heartbeat picked up again, this time in a rhythm of panic as Mark leaned in closer and found himself backing away, a hand on the other man’s chest. “No… please don’t…” He found himself saying softly, pushing himself to his feet almost on auto pilot only narrowly avoiding knocking heads with the American as he did so. He needed the space, to think, to breathe before he did something incredibly stupid. Like ignore all the future heartbreak he knew was coming and just kiss the guy like he so wanted.

When Jack turned back Mark’s expression was a mask of surprise, unmoving from where he sat on the couch. Jack felt nausea gnawing at his stomach. “So sorry, I- I need to…” He began breathlessly but couldn’t finish, his words dying in the back of his throat before he could get them out.

“Jack? Are you- is everything okay?” Mark was asking and Jack couldn’t bear to hear the honest concern in that voice.

“It’s fine just...” Jack began, desperately searching for the right words, the perfect excuse but coming up with nothing. “I think I need to go lie down.”

Mark, for his part, seemed to take it in his stride, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket from where he had thrown it over the couch. “Look, I’d better go.” He said quietly, and Jack was surprised to see the sadness etched into Mark’s face when their eyes met.

“But you…you’re not done your food.” Jack replied weakly, gesturing to Mark’s half full plate, wondering why he was bothering to argue.

“I’m sorry I think I’ve been reading this thing all wrong.” Mark sighed, looking down at the floor and taking a few steps towards the door. “I’ll just leave you alone, alright?”

That was the last thing Jack wanted. But this, none of it made any sense. Mark was straight, he had to be. Jack was just imagining all this tension; it had to be in his head. “You have a girlfriend, Mark. I can’t…” Jack trailed off at the expression on Mark’s face.

He was smiling.

“Are you serious? That’s it? I don’t have a girlfriend you idiot.” A short laugh escaped his mouth as he shook his head, taking a step closer to where Jack stood, an amused smirk curling his lip. “If I had a girlfriend I wouldn’t be cuddling up on a couch with you, now would I?” He murmured, his voice low.     

Jack couldn’t breathe. Mark was so close.

“If I had a girlfriend I wouldn’t be able to do this.” Mark said softly, bringing a hand up to cup Jack’s cheek gently and Jack couldn’t bring himself to pull away a second time. Mark hesitated for a moment, giving Jack just enough time to slide his eyes shut, before leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a soft kiss.

Mark tasted like the sweet and sour sauce he’d just eaten and something wonderfully warm and bitter like black coffee; Jack felt lightheaded, the smell of Mark’s cologne filling his nose so amazingly overwhelming. Jack kissed back, hard, his hand hooking around Mark's neck, pulling him closer. By _God_ it had been so long since he did anything like this. He’d missed it, far more than he realised. 

But all of a sudden the feeling was gone. It was over so fast, too fast. By the time Jack opened his eyes Mark was already backing away, a small grin on his face, his lips tinged red.

Jack knew his face was flushed and he couldn’t even pinpoint which of the million emotions thrumming through him was to blame for it. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He was speechless, Jesus Christ.

“Okay there?” Mark asked playfully, grinning like he was struggling to hold back laughter.

Jack rolled his eyes and then Mark was kissing him again. Except this time Jack knew what was coming. This time he couldn’t lose himself in the moment, he couldn’t just forget all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. The complications this was going to cause. This time Jack placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder and pushed, shoving him away with a little more force than he’d intended.

Jack shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t-”

“You can’t what?” Mark snapped, the bite in his tone seemingly surprising both of them if Mark’s wide eyes were anything to go by.

Jack blinked up at him with wide eyes. “I can’t do this.” He exclaimed, gesturing between the two of them. “This thing we have, I can’t do it.”

“Why not?” Mark asked irritation clear in his expression and his tone sharp as a knife. “First you don’t want it, and I get that, I do. But then suddenly you _do_ want it and two seconds later, you don’t again?”

Jack took a step forward, opening his mouth to protest but Mark wasn’t having it, cutting him off before he could say a word. “No. You make your fucking mind up, Jack. I’m done with all these stupid mixed signals. You either want it or you don’t, there is no in-between.”

Jack made to defend himself but once again found himself shutting his mouth before any words could come out. Because what could he say? A relationship with this man would self-destruct in a second if the truth of Jack’s ulterior motives reared its ugly head. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to argue that he knew exactly what he wanted, he just couldn’t have it. That would just lead to a plethora of questions Jack didn’t want to even think about.

Mark closed his eyes, seemingly composing himself after his outburst, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “Look, figure out what you want from me. Then we’ll talk.” He said in a decisive tone that left no room for argument.

Mark turned on his heel to leave; he’d said everything he wanted to say.

But Jack hadn’t.

“Well, maybe it’d be easier to know what I wanted if I knew what the fuck you’re offering me.” Jack argued, his voice coming out too biting, too defensive, but he couldn’t make it stop. Mark turned to face him, irritation clear on his face. “I don’t understand what you get out of this- this _thing_.”

“I get to know you.” The American replied, his voice serious and irritated like spelling this out was causing him a personal inconvenience. Mark took a few steps closer to where Jack stood, looming over him intimidatingly, studying his face with a frown.

“I want to know what the hell is so fucking special about you; why you’re so intriguing to me that I’m making a fucking _house call_ in the middle of the day because I was so fucking _worried_ about you I couldn’t stand waiting anymore.” Mark bit out and Jack was taken aback for a second. Those words were filled with such disbelief; like he truly couldn’t comprehend what it was about Jack that was the cause of this behaviour, his dark eyes scrutinising the Irishman’s features as though the answer would be hidden somewhere on his face. 

Jack knew he was gaping like a goddamned fish, almost scared to breathe in the tense atmosphere of the room. Honestly that was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Mark’s mouth and the American wasn’t even done.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me but I-” Suddenly Mark stopped, studying Jack’s shocked expression for a few tense seconds more before letting out a low sigh, his entire body seeming to deflate with the motion. A hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose and he chuckled dryly with no real humour behind it.

“Well, I think we can both agree I’ve said more than enough.” He said quietly, pulling his jacket on as he met Jack's gaze with a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. “I’ll show myself out.”

Jack watched him go, waiting until the door had slammed shut behind him before he slowly sank down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands, angry, frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Still he didn't cry.

Jack  _refused_ to cry over Mark fucking Fischbach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I'm so sorry for the dismally late update I've been going through my dreaded exams once again and I had to spend my time on that. For the 3-4 people who might still read this I hope you enjoyed this monster of a chapter :) Until next time...BYEE!!


	14. Chapter 14

**_Mark’s in trouble._ **

Was the text message Jack received 2 days after he watched Mark leave with his head hanging low and his words hanging heavy in the air.

He had taken yet another sick day off, unwilling to return to work when his blood ran hotter than the inside of his oven and his skin stayed covered in gooseflesh like he lived in the Antarctic.

At first Jack thought the message was simply a mistake, the phone number was unfamiliar and the message itself was vague enough it could be to anyone. Mark was a common name, he decided, there was nothing to worry about.

Therefore for the first half hour or so after he read it, he ignored it, forgot about it. Thankfully he managed to find a little bottle of slightly dodgy looking antibiotics gathering dust in the back of his kitchen cupboard that surprisingly did as promised on the bottle and cleaned his debilitating fever up rather nicely. Honestly he was feeling quite good about the day. Until, that is, he got another message.

**_Jack, you need to help him._ **

Jack’s intake of breath was sharp as he read the message. No mistake then, it was Mark Fischbach once again muscling his way into Jack’s life through SMS messenger. Fantastic. Nothing at all ominous or shady about these anonymous and purposefully uninformative messages; obviously he should trust the sender wholeheartedly and do whatever they asked without question. 

Or, you know, not.

His phone buzzed again a second later. It was an address, a place about a 15-20 minute walk away from Jack’s apartment in a part of the city Jack was far from familiar with. Jack let out a low breath as he studied the message before typing a reply. Honestly, one anonymous text messenger in his life had been more than enough without adding another into the mix.

_I don’t know you. I’m not going anywhere, sorry to disappoint._

Not two seconds later Jack’s phone buzzed with an answer.

**_And he said you liked the mysterious types. It’s Olivia Crawford, McLoughlin. Mark's friend. Now get over here right now or so help me I’m throwing him out a window._ **

Jack felt his stomach drop a little at the name, his stomach starting to fill to the brim with dread. Olivia Crawford. She was close to Mark, he knew that, but Mark had never specified how close exactly.

He didn’t have a girlfriend and she said they were friends but were they perhaps friends-with-benefits? An occasional fling? Fuck buddies? Jack wasn’t sure if it was an intrusion of privacy to ask and he also wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know the answer. 

Still, that didn’t matter now.

Right now he was too busy tugging on his jacket and barrelling out his front door with more vigour than necessary, quickly walking down the street as fast as he could, wondering if the Upper West Side was renowned for daylight muggings or not.

There was no evidence of the snow that had once covered the dirty sidewalks and brooding grey buildings in a carpet of white. There wasn’t even a hint of wind, only a cloudy sky that held the promise of a downpour later, though of snow or hail or rain Jack didn’t know. That was another reason Jack hated winter. It made everything so unpredictable.

The Irishman kept an eye on the signs he passed, still not familiar with the twists and turns of the city streets. He made sure to double check the address on his phone, worried he might walk straight past his destination.

The walk was a long one though, and it gave him time enough to work himself into quite the state, the debate over whether or not he should turn around instead of walking directly into what could be a serial killer’s trap ready to be sprung waging war through his head. The only reason he hadn’t convinced himself to turn around completely was the knowledge that Mark needed help. Needed _Jack_ right now. And despite any fears he had about the circumstances, Jack always found himself coming back to that.

He couldn’t leave Mark alone, not with things the way they were. Jack had to figure out how to explain himself; he wanted to find the best way to tell Mark anything other than the truth without lying straight to his face.

Easier said than done of course.

Around 5 minutes after he came to this conclusion Jack found himself looking up at a rather ordinary looking apartment complex, the outer walls painted an almost obnoxious shade of red and the rectangular windows looking clean and undamaged, which was admittedly more than Jack’s own apartment could brag about.

He strode to the door and pressed the button beside the number ‘14’, surprised when a quiet buzzer sounded almost instantly and the lock on the door clicked open. After a considerable stair climb Jack stood outside apartment 14, his face flushed from exertion and his brain going into overdrive at the mere thought of knocking.

As it so happened he needn’t have worried, the door opened inwards all by itself to reveal the beautiful woman he’d only ever witnessed in pictures, dressed in a classy burgundy dress with intricate black lace decorating her bodice. Her hair was styled to perfection, tumbling over shoulder in smooth brown waves and in her hand she held a small black clutch bag to compliment her outfit. 

When she laid eyes on Jack, Olivia Crawford’s face broke into a wide smile, a smile Jack wasn’t entirely sure he liked. Something he couldn’t quite place about the dark red lipstick that she’d smeared across her lips standing out against her pale skin unnerved him. She was about his height in her high heels, probably an inch or two shorter without them, but even so Jack couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by such intimidating beauty. He’d never before felt so out of place in his worn out jeans, hoodie and trainers, than he did standing next to an Olivia Crawford ready for the red carpet.

Olivia’s blue eyes bored into his own, her eye makeup dark to match the rest of her outfit. “So, you’re Jack, huh?” She mused aloud, unashamedly taking her sweet time giving him a once over and Jack struggled not to shift under her unwavering gaze. Her Scottish accent didn’t quite match the star-studded image, a little too broad and a little too unpolished. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

It took Jack a second to remember how words worked. “I could say the same about you.” He finally managed with a weak smile.

She rolled her eyes. “All good things I’m sure.” Her tone was sarcastic and her body language suddenly relaxed as she leaned casually against the doorway.

Jack suddenly felt far more at ease than before, the intimidating edge to the woman’s beauty melting away to reveal the small town kind of girl Jack remembered being friends with back in secondary school. Hell, she looked so damn young she might just _be_ in secondary school. Or high school, whatever. How old was she again?

“Well are you coming in? I’m not gonna wait all day.” Olivia teased and Jack took her invitation, walking through the door without a word. Inside the apartment he noted it was considerably larger than his own, the extra space giving the place an airy feel and the furniture full of leather and glass, modern curves and clean cut angles. Wide windows looked out onto the buildings on the opposite side of the street, the promised rain thudding dully against the glass in a sporadic rhythm.

It was far from what he expected from Mark, but then, when had Mark ever been predictable?

Actually, on that note. “Where’s Mark? I think you mentioned in your nice and cryptic messages that he was in trouble of some kind?” Jack inquired, keeping his tone polite as he watched Olivia strut her way into the kitchen to open the fridge. A second later she reappeared with two bottles of beer and a bottle opener, closing the fridge with her hip and gesturing Jack over to a comfortable looking brown couch.

“Don’t look so worried, Romeo, he’s just up in the apartment above. When I said trouble I wasn’t kidding but you can help with that later. Before that, I wanted to meet you, talk to you; make sure things are crystal clear, y’know?” She said calmly, sitting down on the couch next to Jack and handing him one of the opened beers before taking a sip of her own.

“And what would you like to talk about?” Jack asked quietly, holding the bottle in his hands but not drinking just yet, simply watching, waiting for her reply.

She paused to swallow her drink before leaning forward and setting her bottle on the coffee table, sitting back in her seat. Jack noticed she was wearing a necklace, a delicate silver cross dangling from her pale throat. “We don’t have much time, Jack, so I’ll get straight to the point. We both know Mark has quite the reputation for his drinking habits, yeah? Well, he’s been more sober in these past two months than he’s been in the past two years and funnily enough that was around the time I started hearing about _you_. Jack said this, Jack said that, yada yada you get the idea. He didn’t stop, but he was...better.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Jack muttered truthfully, but looked up to see Olivia’s expression suddenly dead serious.

“Honestly Jack, I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. What I care about is why two days ago Mark had the biggest relapse I’ve ever seen.” Olivia took a drink of her beer, her eyes never leaving Jack’s face. “Now I’m just going to go ahead and assume that you had something to do with it. And in that case, you’re going to go up there and do or say whatever the fuck you have to to fix it. I want to make it clear that if you dare put him in a position like this again, I'll make you wish you were ever born.” She smiled at him when she finished her speech, though the glare in her eyes was positively glacial.

The Irishman glared her down, his entire body filled with tension. “Was that a threat?” 

“No.” She answered, her smile widening dangerously. “It was a promise.”

Jack met her gaze evenly even though he knew she had every intention of carrying out such a promise. “I’ll do what I can.” He bit out, his voice filled with hard determination that hadn’t been there before. The threat wasn’t necessary. He _wanted_ to help Mark, in fact he _needed_ to. This was all his fault. If it weren’t for his ridiculous games maybe then they would be together right now, enjoying a date somewhere off in the city; happy in each other’s company. It hardly mattered now of course. That fantasy wouldn’t ever come into fruition. Even if he did have to deal with an overprotective loved one regardless.

Olivia gracefully got to her feet, her smile widening as Jack followed her to the door, leaving his untouched drink abandoned on the coffee table.

“In that case Mr Mc Loughlin, you’d better run up to him, your damsel awaits.” She said cheerily, checking her watch before fixing her hair a little, brushing stray strands out of her eyes, all tension forgotten. “I’d better leave or I’ll be late.”

Jack nodded at her as he passed, barely reaching the stair landing before Olivia unexpectedly called his name. Jack turned just in time to catch an object about the size of a matchbox flying directly towards his face, nearly dropping it in his surprise.

He shot Olivia an affronted look that made her laugh softly, one styled eyebrow arched expectantly. “You’ll be needin’ those.” She shrugged without further explanation. Jack frowned, looking down at the small box in his hands.

It was a packet of cigarettes.

Jack looked up at Olivia again, this time with a confused expression. “I don’t smoke.”

Olivia grinned at him, beginning to walk away in the opposite direction. “Yeah, me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I hope no one kills me for the serious lack of septiplier this chapter is suffering from, it's just it was part of a much bigger chapter (like seriously this half of the monstrosity is over 2k words on its own) and I decided to just publish this part now while I finish the other half as another chapter. Idk how people will react to Olivia's character but I had fun writing her tbh :) I hope no one is too disappointed and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Until next time...BYEE!

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! I know this is quite random and obviously not a new chapter of My American Idiot, but I just had this tucked away in my notes and I thought I'd just throw it out here to see what people think. Also this was whipped up real quick so I apologise for the shoddy writing but honestly I had so much fun.
> 
> If you would like me to continue this please don't forget to tell me :)


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